


Mystery Creates Desire

by Black_Lotus



Series: A Whore And The Man Who Doesn't Exist [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anybody else think Harold looks kinda Daddy in those suits?, Awkwardness, BAMF Shaw, Blood and Gore, Cover Art, Dating, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Doggy Style, Episode: s02e15 Booked Solid, Episode: s03e09 The Crossing, Episode: s03e11 Lethe, Episode: s03e12 Aletheia, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Foster Care, Foster System, Hair-pulling, Harold Finch Needs A Hug, Harold Is Oblivious, Harold's Suits, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Literature, Manhattan, Mild Daddy Kink, Multilingual Character, Multilingual OC Character, New York City, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Photographic Memory, Prostitution, Rammstein - Freeform, Reese Is A Good Friend, Rough Sex, Sex, Sex for Money, Slow Burn, Spinal injuries, Suit Kink, Undercover, Vaginal Sex, floristry, lying, mentions of past rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 76,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21810826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Lotus/pseuds/Black_Lotus
Summary: (Episode Tag S02E15)“Madam, it's best not to flirt with the concierge of a hotel when you're a prostitute for said hotel.”She chuckled, not a single hint of concern that he knew what she was. Those green orbs continued to sparkle.“You're right, best not, and I prefer escort or call girl.” She leant on the wooden desk closing the space between them. “However, you're not a concierge.”Or, The one where Harold accidentally befriends an escort with a mind to rival his own.COMPLETE
Relationships: Harold Finch & John Reese, Harold Finch/Original Female Character(s), Sameen Shaw & OFC Friendship
Series: A Whore And The Man Who Doesn't Exist [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972564
Comments: 75
Kudos: 31





	1. Far More Fascinating

**Author's Note:**

> The plot line for this is going to run from S02E15 to somewhere towards the end of season three.

Harold smirked when he got into The Coronet Hotel's security cameras all too easily, frankly he wondered why they'd even bothered with this half-ass security system. Still, he'd take an easy day protecting a Number over the other more shoot-y sort. Things had been going fairly smoothly at the hotel considering he and Reese still had a young woman in danger and an escort ring running around the lavishly decorated lobby.

More surprisingly than how well things had been going was that the bespectacled man actually enjoyed being a concierge, it was simple and didn't involve too much legwork. However, he'd not moved from the concierge desk since they'd started four hours earlier and his leg had started to throb somewhat. Finch didn't stop though, his pain threshold was arguably higher than that of Mister Reese, and they had a woman to save which was by far more important than his leg. 

From what Finch had gathered from his blue eyes continuously monitoring the ornate lobby and everyone passing through, Fowler had twelve girls working for him – or at least that day he did – but two of them kept appearing more than the others. Wasn't hard to figure out they were the ones in high demand and Harold couldn't blame anyone for that; both were stunningly beautiful women. Harold didn't spend all his time watching escorts though, he stayed focused on his work, had to, Miss Dobrica's life depended upon it.  Although, he did keep getting interrupted by actually having to _be_ a concierge. People asked him dull questions, despite there being three other staff members eagerly waiting do help. Mostly he found himself posed with the question of where the best place for dinner was or where the bathroom was, questions that only required a bold smile and quick, short answers; The Grand because it had the best rib-eye and the bathrooms were to his left and right.

Finch had just sent Mister Reese upstairs after their Number when a young woman approached him at his dark wood desk, he spotted her over his glasses, a blurry feminine form that he didn't glance up to at first. He expected the usual 'where's the bathroom' but instead she cleared her throat which finally got him to look at her properly. The second he did Harold realized she was the taller of the two women he'd decided were in high demand. She smiled at him softly, a smile that made her green eyes sparkle like polished emeralds.

“Hello.” She greeted in an almost lyrical voice.

He had to admit this girl was far beyond stunning, seeing her from afar hadn't done her justice. She was a little shorter than himself – even in heels – with jet black hair that came down to just below her shoulders and hung in loose waves like delicate brush strokes on a canvas. Green eyes like gemstones emphasized by sharp but subtle eyeliner, so much work had gone into that make-up and yet it all still looked natural. Harold paused a moment when he noticed her dress, black, short and tight to show off her body and the assets known as her generous chest, however, none of it was overly obvious or revealed what she was; chameleon. This woman was like those in magazines except this one wasn't airbrushed, she stood right in front of him with that smile.

“Hello.” He responded finally. She worked in this hotel so he doubted he was in for the usual questions. “Can I help you, Madam?”

She tilted her head as if thinking something over but the delicate smile never faded.

“I don't know, can you?”

He stiffened, well, a bit more than usual.

“Madam, it's best not to flirt with the concierge of a hotel when you're a prostitute for said hotel.” 

She chuckled, not a single hint of concern that he knew what she was. Those green orbs continued to sparkle.

“You're right, best not, and I prefer escort or call girl.” She leant on the wooden desk closing the space between them. “However, you're not a concierge.”

Harold went blank a moment, his smile faded and he found himself genuinely taken aback. He got a handle on himself quickly though, he couldn't let anything slip or it could mean the end of Mira Dobrica and he would  _not_ allow that.

“I don't know what you mean, Madam.”

That got the prostitute to breathe out a laugh. “Of course you don't.” She made a show of pouting. “I'm an escort, Mister whoever you are, I know an act when I see one. And you, well, you're lying through your teeth.”

Damn it, the whore had figured him out, or at least she'd started to. Harold planned and plotted for every eventuality but he'd not seen this coming.

“I assure you, Madam, I am simply a concierge.”

“No,” she began softly with a look that bordered on bedroom eyes, “you're much more fascinating than that.”

An elder man appeared then, late sixties, maybe early seventies, and far taller than Mister Reese let alone Harold himself. He looked very well put together for a senior man and still had a youth in his eyes. Harold didn't have to think very hard to figure out he'd soon have a youth in his bed as well. She turned to face the man and flashed a heavenly smile before she let him loop their arms together and lead her off towards the elevator bank on the right.

It had been a strange encounter, one that had put the bespectacled man on edge a little. Harold wasn't used to – for a lack of a better term – ordinary people figuring out there was something off about who he claimed to be. In Finch's mind he'd made a pretty good concierge. He pushed the meeting from his mind and just assumed she was a curious girl who'd gotten very good at spotting liars, in fact, Harold found himself rather impressed she'd noticed. However, she was gone now and out of his hair so the constant fabulist returned to work; they had to save a life after all. 

Several hours passed and Mister Reese had come to talk with him at the concierge desk, much to Fowler's annoyance, and then a reporter had been murdered and shoved in a case. Fusco had gotten Miss Dobrica out of the hotel though, she was safe. When Reese's clear out order came Harold shut his terminal down and simply walked away once he'd wiped all records of himself from the system. Meanwhile Reese had knocked Fowler – the floor manager – out with one punch after he'd been discovered in the women room to retrieve the disk. 

A few days later Reese and Harold had successfully managed to take down the escort ring, to which Derek Fowler had confessed the second the handcuffs had been slapped on, and due to the scandal the Coronet Hotel's owners had been more than willing to sell it to Harold; under an assumed name of course. He'd would have swooped in and purchased the hotel even if they'd not been so willing to sell, the place needed proper management and thanks to a little conversation with John it had been easy to find a new floor manager and Miss Dobrica – or more correctly Miss Brozi – had done an excellent job. 

She was why Finch and Reese found themselves sat at the hotel bar a good three days later sipping at scotch and beer respectively. Harold ignored the hubbub around him and instead paid attention to the way John subtly perked up when Zoe entered the bar, Miss Morgan truly was a wonderful woman and Harold had no doubt she was good for his ex-agent friend. 

The three of them kept their conversation light and littered with touches of humor until Miss Brozi appeared to their right and Harold absconded to her office to discuss the month's event calendar; half way down the hall he mourned his forgotten scotch. Wasn't like Harold had a shortage of scotch though. 

When he returned neither Mister Reese nor Miss Morgan were anywhere in sight and frankly he didn't want to think about where they'd vanished off to, besides Harold wasn't Reese's keeper, as long as he came when a Number got spat out by the Machine everything would be fine.

Something caught his attention then, a man a little younger than himself stood over at one of the wooden tables and bent to kiss a young woman's cheek; all very unimportant until he realized it was the same woman he'd met at the concierge desk. Those dazzling green-eyes of hers found his blue ones quickly and a smile settled on her lips as she gestured to the now vacant seat. If asked later why he limped over and sat he'd still not be able to provide a satisfactory answer; maybe it was the impossible shade of emeralds in her eyes or maybe the pretty smile, maybe it didn't matter.

“I thought all the escorts at this hotel were arrested.” Said Harold as he settled himself in the seat.

The girl shrugged which made a show of her casual off-shoulder dress, the rich, dark plum color really brought out those eyes. Okay, maybe it had been the eyes after all.

“I knew something was going on when I spoke to you so I thought it would be best to take the rest of the day off.

 _Not just observant but very clever,_ muttered Finch's mind. Her boysenberry lipstick made her skin seem even paler, like porcelain. 

“Then why are you at the same hotel only a few days later after your boss was arrested meeting a … client?” 

That got a chuckle out of the young woman – very young, certainly under twenty-five – and she gestured loosely around the bar.

“This place has fantastic wine.” _Not_ _just clever but brazen_ , a dangerous combination in Harold's opinion. “Oh, and he's not a client, wants to be but no.” Harold showed no sign of it but he did wonder what the man had done to put her off. “You put me out of a job but I should probably thank you because now I get to work for myself. I get to vet the client list and the one who just left won't be on it. Too much of a loose cannon.” 

“Best to avoid people like that when possible.” He replied calmly.

“I couldn't agree more.”

The two spoke for a short while and, of course, Harold gave away nothing as to who he really was or why he'd been impersonating a simple concierge. She seemed very respectful in her comments and Harold was silently grateful for that, most people just wanted the whole story and damn the consequences. 

“You should say sorry though.” He raised an eyebrow as she pouted in the cutest way possible; he'd never seen a pout be cute before. “You did put me out of work. Fowler is a dick, sure, but work is work.” When the pout broke into a smirk he realized she was teasing him. “What's your name?”

There it was, the start to the questioning. “Harold Dove.”

At this point in his life lying about his name was second nature, he didn't miss a beat or struggle to come up with a new name; one was always there to roll of the tongue. Instantly the girl started to laugh, a magical sound.

“No it isn't but I like it.” Now he'd started to wonder if this young woman was too smart for her own good. “I like Harold though, it's old-fashioned but adorable. Suits you.” She paused a moment to sip from her wine glass that had been just sitting between them since this odd conversation had started. “Why is it you showed up and suddenly all the secrets and lies got out? Then people started getting shot if the news is to be believed and Fowler got arrested.” 

“It truly is a mystery,” was the only answer he'd provide as he rose to his feet “goodbye, Miss?” 

“My name is Cassandra.”

Finch smiled, a genuine smile that hardly anyone ever got to see. “Now who's lying about their identity, hmm.”

As he left the bar he knew that Cassandra, or whatever her real name was, watched him with a simper on her face. In a strange way he felt as though he'd met a sort of kindred spirit.


	2. Eggs Benedict And Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt bad when I told M_E_Lover that there would be a weeks wait until chapter two, so I'm posting it early. Hear that? You got me to do this early! :-) 
> 
> There's a warning for Past Child Abuse and Past Child Torture in this chapter but it's not any of our main characters.

About a month had sailed by since Harold had purchased the Coronet Hotel and put Miss Brozi to work as the floor manager. She'd really taken to her new profession and Harold couldn't fault her hard work, she'd done wonders for its social calendar already. 

He'd not slept very well the previous night, on a good day his pain lingered around a three but last night it had been way up at seven, that was how he'd ended up at the diner eating Eggs Benedict and re-reading _The Island of Doctor Moreau_ as a way of grounding his mind. Thankfully it seemed to be working because his pain level had dropped back down to a steady and manageable three. 

As the suit clad man turned a page he spotted someone in his peripheral vision, for a second he assumed it to be the waitress wanting to know if he needed anything else but when he finally looked up there was Cassandra and all his memories of the hotel flooded back. The raven-haired beauty had dressed down from the last time he'd seen her,  now in denim shorts, a long white cardigan and an oversized shirt with _ Rammstein _ scrawled across it. Those heels of hers were still present though and her legs remained on display, and they were _very_ lovely legs.

With a beaming smile she slipped into the booth opposite him and thanked a waitress when a cup of steaming black coffee was set before her. Finch froze with a fork of eggs half way to his open mouth and watched her with a raised eyebrow. It took him a moment but he soon managed to set the fork down and get his brain to function again. 

“You're following me now?” He accused with no real anger. “I usually notice people following me.”

Harold had glanced at the heels Cassandra wore and seriously doubted she'd be prepared for it. She just shrugged and lifted her coffee cup to her bold red lips. 

“It must be fate.” Sip. “Mind if I sit here?” She asked despite already being in the booth. 

Finch wanted to decline but when he glanced around the diner he saw just how busy the place was. As far as he could tell there were only three available spots to sit; one at the counter between two men who looked like they'd kill a woman for daring to breathe the same air as them, over by an old man who was clearly already drunk at – Harold glanced at his watch – eight in the morning and the last was by a young boy who seemed to care more about kicking all the chairs near him whether they had someone sat in them or not. Upon reflection, the bespectacled man wouldn't have wanted to sit in any of those places either so he didn't blame Cassandra for not wanting to and reluctantly accepted her presence. 

“Please tell me this isn't the first time you're reading that.” She said as she nodded to the book.

“Of course not, everyone should have read this.” Harold firmly believed that. “It's a tale of moral responsibility, the philosophical themes and imagery, not to mention its portrayal of human identity. It teaches that just because one can does not mean one should, Miss Cassandra.” 

She flashed him a smile over her cup, clearly pleased he understood the story's – sometimes obvious – messages.

“The Puma-woman, that horrified me. I can't imagine leaving someone in that much pain.”

Harold flashed back to the previous night and being unable to sleep because of the pain in his spine, frankly he could understand far better than Cassandra could.

As their talk went on Harold discovered that the pair of them actually shared a vast enjoyment of literature and – surprisingly – he concluded he liked this girl. She was knowledgeable and opinionated but not rudely so, Cassandra latched on to life lessons in novels and was able to discuss them at length when with another like-minded person and seemed willing to learn and take in other's opinions. After a while though she got sick of Harold referring to her as 'Miss Cassandra.” 

“Well, I don't know your name so it will have to do.” He replied not expecting to know her real name unless he Bluejacked her phone. 

“... It's Harbor.” She said softly. “Harbor Caldwell.”

Harold raised an eyebrow. “What sort of a name is 'Harbor'?”

The raven-haired beauty, who was on her third cup of coffee, didn't seem impressed. “At least it's a real one.”

That got a soft smile out of him. “You have me there.”

“I'm an escort, I'll have you anywhere.”

It had become glaringly obvious very quickly that Cassandra – or Harbor as it turned out – didn't seem to be able to turn her teasing dial down. Harold wasn't offended but he had made note of it. His face betrayed him though because Finch's face flushed red and Harbor thought it utterly adorable from a man his age. 

Soon the conversation turned to poetry and Harold became fascinated when she corrected him on a misquoted _Macbeth_ saying 'lead' instead of 'lay'. It wasn't that Harold had assumed that Harbor's chosen occupation meant she was stupid, not at all, but he'd not expected her to have such a varied knowledge and be able to recite so easily.

“How can you know that?” He asked as he leant in a little; his plate had been taken away long ago now only his closed book sat between them. 

Harbor looked away then and her happy smile faded to one of caution as she debated how to answer. He'd not seen this from her in any of their three meetings and Harold instantly recognized he's touched a nerve. When she finally spoke it was dismissive and shrugged off.

“... My brain, its wired weirdly.”

Well that was a comment that required further inquiry if ever he'd heard one.

“Em, 'wired weirdly'? Care to elaborate?” Harold kept his voice soft and gentle as he didn't know how she'd react.

“I don't want to show off.” She waved him off with a loose gesture and finished the last of her coffee. Much to Harold's pleasure she didn't seem offended or irritated. “I have a photographic memory, but while most people with one can remember things, images, books, weeks or even months later … I'm quite rare. I can still remember kids books from kindergarten word for word and I'm now twenty-two. Once it's in there, it's in there.”

That certainly explained a lot in regards to her ability to correct his misquote so easily and had all that literature information on hand. Finch had already concluded that Harbor was highly intelligent but now he thought her remarkable, he also wondered why a woman with a brain like that worked as an escort.

They talked a little longer and Harold had to admit he'd not been this mentally stretched by another person since his MIT days. He opened his mouth to speak but paused when his phone vibrated and he quickly took it out from his breast pocket. Reese, and it didn't seem good.

“As interesting as our conversation has been, Miss Caldwell, I'm afraid I must leave.” He grabbed his book, shoved his phone away and stood. “Good day.”

“Hope we run into each other again some time.”

“Unlikely.”

Then he was gone off to aid Mister Reese and get the next name off the Irrelevant list. It had been a pure coincidence that he'd met Miss Caldwell again, the diner was popular after all, but she was just one girl and Harold was unlikely to come across her again.

~X~

Around a week and a half later Harold returned to the diner dressed in a navy suit and a burgundy tie; suits were his weakness. He'd planned to take Bear for a walk but Reese had beaten him to it so Harold was left flying solo as he'd headed for something to eat. He glanced over at the booths as soon as he was through the door and annoyingly found them all full of patrons, _the counter it is then_. He limped over only to stop dead, sat looking sipping her coffee was Harbor. He'd figured it so unlikely for them to ever stumble across one another again, but if she ate at the diner semi-regularly as he did then _un_ likely became _very_ likely indeed. She'd not seen him, Finch could have left and found somewhere else to eat but no, he wanted that plate of Eggs Benedict he'd promised himself. 

He'd not intended to Bluejack her phone originally, however, their beyond interesting conversation had changed matters and he'd not been able to stop himself as he'd left. She'd not lied, Harbor Caldwell was indeed her real name. She'd been born in Wichita, Kansas, some fifteen-hundred miles away. Her father had been a Marine by the name of Sebastian Caldwell and her mother, Deanna, had died due to complications in childbirth. She'd spent some time in The System as well though it appeared she'd run away not long after. Harbor hadn't lied about her age either, twenty-two years old as of November last year. A young woman basically alone in the world.

Before he knew his feet had moved Harold had limped to the stool beside her. A quick flash down took in her outfit which – once again – showed off those lovely legs and damn as she beautiful. Short red circle skirt and long-sleeved, stripped top, bold and yet somehow simple; the heels though, Harold had to wonder how she walked in those things.

Harold noticed a man a few seats along the counter as he glanced between Harbor and Harold himself only to hive him 'that look' the one that said he didn't have a chance with a girl as stunning as Harbor. However, when she finally spotted him her head snapped up and a beaming grin spread across her berry colored lips. Quickly the silent man's expression changed to another look one that muttered 'ah, you're her sugar daddy'. Harold didn't care what he or anyone else assumed about him, it wasn't any of their business any way. 

Finch sat himself down beside her and the two slipped into conversation as though more than a week hadn't occurred since their last chat. Harold hadn't meant for it to happen, he always tried to be so unpredictable but he and Harbor had breakfast at the diner most mornings after that; Machine and Numbers permitting of course. He liked this girl, he could actually have an interesting conversation with her and she reminded him why he and Reese did what they did, to help people who didn't have anyone to rely on but themselves. She didn't pity him or treat him like he was made of glass because of his injuries either. Harold knew this was stupid and dangerous for him to become a creature of habit but he truly enjoyed the raven-haired beauty's company. Harold Finch didn't make friends – under any name – save for dear Mister Reese whose friendship he'd already come to cherish, and yet this girl – because she was little more than a girl – had wormed her way in without really meaning to. Had he not gone through her history with a fine-tooth comb he'd have though Harbor an agent of some sort just waiting to pounce. 

Fifteen days after they'd started this little routine Harold found himself sat at the counter – facing the door due to his intense paranoia – waiting for the young woman to show up, she was usually there before him but on the odd occasion she'd come in to find him sat with a cup of coffee waiting for her. Harold hadn't want to admit it to himself at the start but her company truly did sooth him and let him forget, just for a short while, that the weight of the world was on his and Mister Reese's shoulders.

Harbor slipped into the seat beside him and crossed her legs in a very ladylike manner and took up the cup for a – rather large – gulp of coffee.

“Thank you, I really needed that. Have you already ordered?”

Finch nodded. “Yes, I hope you don't object but I took the liberty of ordering you pancakes.”

“Am I that predictable?”

“Perhaps I am just very observant.”

She seemed pleased with that answer because she flashed him a grin. Instantly he knew why she'd been late, Harbor wasn't wearing one of her bold lipsticks and that meant one thing; she'd been with a client. Harbor never wore lipstick when working, or perfume, she'd instead wear a shimmering lip-gloss, still pretty but it wouldn't leave any hint that a man had been with a whore. Wonderful for men with wives or girlfriends. While Harold didn't judge her in the least for her chosen profession he did occasionally feel bad for said wives and girlfriends.

Their plates were set before them then by a lovely young waitress who was always at the diner with a smile. When Harbor started to rummage though her bag for some cash Harold quickly stopped her.

“Already paid.”

She flashed him a look, one that he suspected meant no one ever did something like that for her unless they intended to fuck her within the next hour.

“You don't have to.” She replied softly.

“My treat.” He insisted; Harold had billions, he could buy a young woman breakfast.

The suspicious look on her stunning face faded then into a genuine smile and she set her bag back down.

“Thank you. And I really could do with a treat right now.” She sighed as she took up her cutlery. “I have a new client and he's … well he's a dick really. Once you get him out his head he's alright but until you have he's all puffed up chest.” 

She didn't seem overly concerned about this man just a touch irritated, then again Finch knew that if she had been concerned Harbor never would have let him onto her list. 

“Tell me his name and I'll run a check.”

 _Shit!_ That slipped out without him wanting it to. Since their meetings had begun he'd not told her anything about what he did and Harbor hadn't asked; amazingly. When he peered back up at her over the top of his thick-rimmed glasses she was chuckling quietly to herself; _adorable._

“Aww, you want to keep me safe.” The escort teased. “How protective of you, Hank.” 

Harold instantly latched onto the nickname and questioned it. “Hank?” 

Harbor shrugged. “Well, I'm not expecting you to tell me your real name like … ever, but I do believe you when you say your name is Harold. I don't like the lie lingering around us so I'm going to call you Hank from now on, it's a name _I've_ given you so it's not a lie and sort of cancels out the fact you're lying to me.” Those polished emeralds fixed on him. “You have secrets and I don't mind, everybody has secrets.”

While slightly convoluted he couldn't argue with her logic, it also meant she wasn't after information which was refreshing to say the least. He took a moment and a bite of eggs before he finally spoke.

“Isn't Hank usually a diminutive of Henry rather hand Harold?”

The raven-haired beauty shrugged. “ Now days they're interchangeable, I think.”

Finch usually just preferred Harold but he had to admit in the back of his mind he liked this nickname, most of the ones he got were from Detective Fusco and were normally just insults like 'Mister Vocabulary' or 'Glasses'.

Harold didn't have long to start over-thinking though as Harbor noticed his blank-ish expression and started talking again. In a way he was thankful for that, all too often Harold couldn't stop thinking.

“Hank, it's very rare for a whore to have a friend who knows she's a whore and isn't one themselves.”

Finch found himself genuinely taken aback. “We're friends?”

Somewhere inside his mind a little voice had hoped but Finch hadn't allowed himself to confirm or deny it.

Those dazzling green-eyes sparkled at him and beautiful didn't do them justice; radiant maybe. Harold highly suspected a man could get lost in those impossibly green orbs.

“We could be.”

“And why would I want to be your friend?” He teased back with a friendly expression.

Harold asked more for a test than anything else and Harbor paused a moment as if to ponder her answer; he busied himself with his breakfast.

“You don't have a lot of friends and nor do I.” The escort told him as if it were simple. “We can be beneficial to each other in that regard. You want anonymity and I have no issue in respecting that. You're highly secretive and fairly paranoid, you don't like becoming a creature of habit and yet here you are sitting with me again so clearly you share a liking for our budding friendship.” 

Gods her mind amazed him. Most people shuffled through life only noticing the bare minimum but Harbor picked up on such little hidden things with ease. 

“How do you do that?” He asked with a small, disbelieving shake of his head.

She flashed him a played down expression. “I'm not your low-level, found her on a street corner, whore, Harold. The men I have sex with I see regularly, I learn who they are, what their tells are. After long enough of doing that – spotting everything – you learn how to do it with people you've never met.” 

Impressed he watched her as she continued to sip her coffee and eat her pancakes and fruit; dainty would have been the best word to describe it. Someone dropped a plate behind him but Harold didn't turn his head, didn't care about the loud smash or the waitress' gasp nor any of the sighing and grumbling that came after, he was much to focused on the mystery that was Harbor Caldwell's brain.

“While you are certainly correct and I'd rather not become a creature of habit, I don't think we would have to cease being  _friends_ in order for me to do that.” _I have two friends, one is a highly trained ex-agent and the other is a prostitute with a photographic memory. Where do I find these people?_ “How about dinner tomorrow instead of breakfast? Change things up as it were. Do you like Korean food?”

She tilted her head at him coyly and a beaming grin spread across her face. He hoped she spoke soon otherwise he'd lose his confidence and back out. Were he attempting a romantic relationship with this woman then … well, he wouldn't have bothered at all, Harbor was so far out of his league he couldn't even see it. Were his league to explode Harbor wouldn't have heard it for another two days. Finch didn't think himself ugly, he knew he wasn't on John Reese level but he wasn't ugly either, just sort of average; mundanely average. Harbor rejecting him probably would have been comical. No, friendship was all he'd get from this girl and Harold was happy with that. That and Harbor was much, _much_ , too young for him; thirty-three years too young to be exact. 

“Is this a date, Mister Dove?” She teased boldly. “And I love Korean food, most Asian food actually, especially when it's spicy.”

Harold overlooked the date tease, didn't want to get back in his head about that.

“Alright, meet me at Jungsik at seven-thirty.” 

One of Harbor's eyebrows shot up. “You know how pricey that place is, right?” He nodded fully aware she'd got no idea of his wealth except for his suits. “And how can you get a table at such an upscale place at such short notice?”

It was Harold's turn to play coy. “I got into the Coronet Hotel with nothing more than two basic background identities and a few smiles.”

She let out a little snicker. “Ahh, magic smiling is your secret, good to know. And smart is the new sexy.”

Harold flushed at that but she still thought it cute. With her plate finished she grabbed her bag, rose to her feet and kissed Harold's cheek.

“Sorry to run out but I have to go to work. I'll see you later, Hank. Thanks for breakfast.”

Then Harbor Caldwell was gone back to the busy streets to wherever her next client resided or had booked a hotel room. She couldn't wipe the smile off her face as her heels click-clacked on the sidewalk; she was happy. Harbor liked having Harold as a friend, the man was utterly facinating and new, unlike anyone else she'd ever met. 

She took a cab to Yorkville and just stared out the window the entire way there. Her client earlier that morning flew in and out of the country a lot so she usually worked around his schedule as best she could. Annoyingly it had meant she'd had only about forty-five minutes to get back to her apartment, shower and change before she'd gone to meet Harold at the diner, now here she was rushing to Yorkville to see her next client. She didn't like booking them all so close together but she'd not really had a choice today.

Harbor paid the cab driver then headed up to the door of Richard Van Dune's home where she knocked and waited. When he opened the door she fluttered her eyes at him and let Richard guide her into the kitchen where he poured them each a glass of wine.

“You're home really is lovely, Richard.” She said after thanking him for the wine. It was the first time she'd met with him since she'd vetted him a week previous but he didn't seem nervous as many of her clients did on their first time. “Rare for me to actually see a guys home instead of a hotel room, I feel honored.” 

Van Dune slipped around the large kitchen island and snaked his arms around her waist, only once he was so close did Harbor realize just how tall the man really was; six-foot-four or five maybe. He'd probably be getting labelled as 'Friendly Giant' in her phone soon.

“Well, I just couldn't be bothered to leave the house, Cassie.” He looked her up and down hungrily. “You sure I can't kiss you on the lips?”

“Very sure.”

That was one of her main rules, when she was working the clients didn't kiss her on the mouth, anywhere else was fair game but Harbor didn't let them actually kiss her.

The pair fooled around for a while, she let him touch her as he pleased and then, suddenly, he had her up on the island with her dress hiked up and her underwear cast aside to some unknown location. The marble was cold on her but she didn't care and after a while Harbor stopped noticing. Richard's shoulders were broad and he was remarkably well toned for a man on the wrong side of fifty. She'd never put much faith in the long fabled idea that a man's height or shoe size indicated the size of his manhood, as a prostitute she'd discovered it had no baring whatsoever, but when it came to Richard Van Dune she may have had to re-think. His arms were strong and his thrusts powerful and to anyone else they'd have wondered why a handsome man such as him would have felt the need to hire an escort. Those people didn't know what Harbor knew. It took her a while but she eventually managed to get him to take his shirt off, she didn't do it 'because that's what happened' she did it to try and build up some confidence in him. If he got some then he may be able to meet someone and not need her any more. The crisp white shirt fell to the ground and his stilled a moment as he fought the urge to cover up his torso. Harbor wasn't having any of that though. 

“It's okay.” She assured as she slipped a condom packet into his hands. “It's all okay.”

With a gentle smile she leant in and pressed a kiss to the scar directly in the middle of his chest. She'd wanted to throw up when they'd met for the first time and he'd told her about why he wanted an escort. How anyone could not just beat their son but cut and brand words into them was beyond her. Whoever Richard's father had been she hoped the man was rotting in Hell. She looked over his chest subtly as he got used to the idea of being shirtless, there were cigarette burns and what looked like belt scars but the thick branding covered lightly by greying hair and words cut in had her taking a breath. Richard hadn't just been abused as a child he'd been tortured. 'Repent' and 'Sinner' appeared multiple times just that she could see and it didn't take a genius to work out there had been some sort of religious angle going on.

Harbor let out a little hum of pleasure when he kissed at her neck, there was that confidence she'd wanted him to have. When she didn't show any signs of discuss he relaxed and thrust deep, his hands on her waist.

Afterwards she was paid, an envelope containing her wage in cash. Normally she got paid up front but she'd made an exception for Richard, wanted it to feel as natural and unlike a transaction as possible for him. She smiled seeing the envelope had 'Cassandra' written neatly on the front; that was new. The raven-haired beauty rocked up onto her hip toes and kissed his cheek then thanked him before she left. Richard may have become her new favorite. 


	3. The Cripple And The Whore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like this is going to get updated far more quickly than I thought it was. YAY!!!

Harold Finch stood patiently outside the restaurant and was texting Mister Reese who had been checking if they had another Number or not. Harold sent back a quick 'no, Mister Reese. Get some rest' before he paused, thought about it and then added that he might want to visit Miss Morgan. He really did try to avoid keeping tabs on Reese's love life or lack there of but he could nudge when he thought it appropriate. 

Harbor magically appeared at his side then and Harold had to remind himself to breathe as his eyes ghosted over the long, royal blue, silk dress she wore. It didn't show off her cleavage, had three-quarter sleeves and frankly covered most of her up except for the slit in the skirt. Harbor was the perfect display of elegance and utterly stunning. 

“Hi, Hank.”

The way her long hair had been pulled over one shoulder had him taking notice of all that lovely porcelain skin. 

“Hello, Harbor, you look wonderful.”

She flashed him a smile. “Thank you, turns out I can dress for any occasion.” Oh she most certainly could. “And I wanted to look nice for you.”

Frankly, Harold believed she could have worn a sandwich board with 'the end is nigh!' scrawled on it and people would have still stopped to admire her beauty. Harold guided her inside the restaurant where they were quickly seated and each took up a menu. He couldn't help watching her for a time as her eyes passed back and forth.

“Why do you do that?” He asked before he'd fully realized his mouth was moving.

Harbor's brow furrowed. “Do what?”

“You're looking over the menu.” He pointed out pretty obviously.

She chuckled softy. “Are you going to insist on ordering for me like it's the fifties?”

“No.” He shook his head knowing her teasing knew no bounds. “However you've got a very unique mind and if it's as amazing as you say then you committed that menu to memory the second you saw it and yet you're still pretending to read it.”

Caught, she put the menu down.

“Sorry, force of habit I suppose.” She lifted a shoulder just a little for a tiny shrug. “Most people don't know about my mind and they don't want to know. They want girls like me to be pretty and be good with their hands not their heads.” 

He could understand that but he needed her to know with him it wasn't necessary.

“I am not a client, Harbor, you do not have to hide your intellect from me.”

Truthfully he'd welcome seeing it. _Damn, she's got a beautiful smile._

“No, I don't, do I. That's part of the reason I like you, Hank.”

They chatted for a while and Harbor couldn't help teasing him about who he'd had to bribe or have sex with to get them a table on such short notice. They mostly conversed about literature until Harold was halfway through his fish and asked of her childhood. Yes, he'd already been through her history but details weren't like a first-hand account. He relaxed when she answered him honestly.

“I wonder how much you've already figured out for yourself, Mister fake identity maker.” It was the first time someone knew he'd looked into them and didn't get, at least a little, irritated by it. Even Reese had expressed annoyance at first. “I never knew my mother, no siblings and my father raised me alone. He died when I was sixteen and it's been just me ever since. I'm not really that interesting.” Oh he highly doubted that. “I'd ask about you but I don't suspect I'd get an answer.”

There wasn't any malice or disgruntlement in her tone, while he knew she'd want every answer she could get she wouldn't push him to tell her, probably why what he said next was so out of character. 

“How about I answer a few questions, if it's safe for you to know of course.”

Harbor's eyes lit up at that and he never wanted that expression to go away. She tapped a finger on her bottom lip to make a display of thinking over her questions before her green-eyes locked on him again.

“Do you have any siblings? Ever made friends with a whore before?”

Not questions he'd expected but then again Harold had started to realize that Harbor wasn't someone he could fit neatly into a box.

He breathed out a laugh. “Yes, I have siblings, two brothers, both much older. No, I won't tell you their names.” He took a drink of his wine before he continued. “No, I haven't befriended an escort before, yet I think you had already guessed that.”

The fact she accepted what he was willing to tell her without complaint still astounded him. Reese had followed him for a week just to try and figure out if he ate Falafel; Harold did.

It had been so long since he'd gone to diner with someone and it not been alone, or so he and Reese could watch a Number. Then again, if one didn't have friends one couldn't go to dinner with them.

When it came time for him to pay the bill he wondered if he shouldn't have chosen a restaurant such as Jungsik, of course he could afford it without a single pause for concern but Harbor didn't know that. Bespoke suits didn't mean a practically endless supply of wealth. There were women out there that wouldn't have paused, just let an elder man pay for their expensive meals without a word but Harbor wasn't like those women. Men paid to have sex with her, didn't mean she was frugal. Still, he navigated the conversation and they made it out of the restaurant without another word said on the subject. 

The night air was cool and refreshing, the street almost unusually quiet and the stars shone high above; or maybe they were just planes zipping about the cloudless sky. A gentle breeze ran through Harbor's long hair and cooled her heated skin nicely.

“Would you like a ride home?” He asked curiously and she quickly nodded in acceptance. “Shall I pretend I don't know where you live or just drive?”

Harbor smirked. “You can just drive, unless I'm getting into my stalker's car.”

He looped their arms together and led her towards his Lincoln Town Car. Like a perfect gentleman he held the passenger door open for her and then limped around to the driver's side.

“This is a _really_ nice car.” She mused aloud.

 _Just wait until she learns about the armored body and bulletproof glass,_ muttered his brain.

They didn't really talk on the way to her apartment, just sat in a comfortable silence as they digested. The moon was full and lit the sky nicely, he couldn't help but notice the way it made Harbor's skin glow. As he drove he realized just how relaxed he was, he'd talked of his interests, he'd laughed and eaten at a reasonable hour without there being guns and unquantifiable levels of stress involved … or someone talking in his ear. Harold had – amazingly – enjoyed himself.

When he pulled over outside her apartment building they turned to face one another, though his movements were stiffer than Harbor's.

“Care for a nightcap?”

Normally he'd decline politely but Harold had to admit he was curious about how a woman such as herself would decorate her apartment, he'd put money on their being a stack of books somewhere. He held the door for her when they went in and led him up to her apartment on the third floor. Her apartment was right at the end of a long hallway and Harold felt a spike of pain in his neck when they finally reached her door.

As expected her place wasn't very big, a smallish living area with two doors, one to a bathroom, one to a bedroom and a small kitchen area at the very back. It was modestly decorated with grey-lilac walls but nothing too eccentric or expensive; the upkeep on how she had to appear wasn't cheep, then there was all that running around the city. It wasn't like Harbor was nearly destitute or anything, just that Harold hadn't lived anywhere so small since he'd been fresh out of MIT. Directly opposite the couch was a wall of bookshelves all packed with books and in front sat two stacks of novels on the floor; which he was happy to be right about. Every single one looked old and repeatedly read. 

Harbor headed into the small kitchen and came back a few moments later with a glass of wine to find him still raking his eyes through her book collection.

“Take it you've noticed my obsession then.” She handed him a glass. “It is kind of obvious.”

Harold shook his head. “Not to worry, I have a library.”

The raven-haired beauty thought he'd meant it as a joke – of course she did – but it wasn't a joke, long ago he'd made Nathan buy up a load of them and without going back over the purchase records Harold himself wasn't a hundred percent sure how many he had. 

“Thank you for dinner, Hank. The wine isn't as good here but it's passable.” 

They each took a sip. He could tell a lot by just looking around her living area and he decided that though she might have first presented as a girly girl Harbor really wasn't. She had a Gothic streak to her and really was a bookworm. Most of the wall between her bedroom and bathroom doors was taken up by a gargantuan black and white poster of a suit clad man with a guitar, Harold had no idea who he was but clearly Harbor was a fan. Over by the kitchen was another poster of a blond man a little younger than himself and while Harold again didn't know who the man was he did at least seem more familiar. 

Harold drew his attention back to the mass of books though and away from her taste in men as he sipped at his rich red wine.

“If you memorize everything so quickly why are the books so worn?” He inquired casually.

“People remember everything that happens in their favorite movie but they still re-watch it.”

Finch honestly couldn't argue with that. “Touché.”

She gestured to the bookshelves. “I like the feel of a book, the pages, hearing them cruch and crackle. It gives it ambiance. It's more fun to just sit down at night in my pyjamas and enjoy a good story even though I already know every word.” 

A soft smile pulled itself onto Harold's face,  _a woman after my own heart._

The pair sat down on the love seat then and Harbor kicked off her heels; something she'd wanted to do for almost an hour. The place was quiet, he couldn't hear anything from her neighbors, it seemed like a hush had descended on the world.

“So, what will you be doing tomorrow?” She asked in that lyrical voice of hers.

Harold breathed out a laugh. “I can't tell you that.”

“Oh, come on! You have to give a girl something.”

Finch paused as he pushed his thick-rimmed glasses back up his nose where they belonged. Harbor was a sweet, kind woman and for the first time in over a year wasn't a woman who wanted to ether kidnap him, shoot him or just plain yell at him. All Harbor Caldwell wanted from him was his friendship and he respected and thanked her for that. Still didn't mean he could or would tell her anything about his and Mister Reese's operation. Safer for everyone if she didn't know.

The elder man and younger woman chatted a little longer and if asked later he'd not remember what about precisely, somehow everything and nothing. Throw away comments and why Thomas Edison was a monster despite what everyone thought; Bastard Edison she'd called him, yes, Harbor was firmly on Team Tesla.

Eventually though he finished his wine and glanced down at his watch. He couldn't linger around her home forever.

“I should leave.” He set down his empty glass. “Thank you for the nightcap, Harbor. Tonight was … fun.” Mister Reese was right, he didn't have nearly enough fun. “Unfortunately I won't be able to meet you for breakfast tomorrow morning, I need to attend to something.” By which he meant he needed to be Harold Wren for a while. 

She waved him off. “That's okay, I'll get fat if I eat any more pancakes anyway.” A cursory glance revealed she'd not be getting fat any time soon.

Harbor copied him and set her glass down beside his on the coffee table then leant in to kiss his cheek, just on the corner of his mouth. Harold went rigid at that – well, more so than he naturally was already – and looked at her as she smiled shyly; he'd never seen shy from her before. Green eyes the color of emeralds sparkling in firelight, skin so smooth and porcelain it looked like a painting and hair as black as night.

The next thing Harold knew he had a lap full of Harbor, she'd straddled him with such ease that his brain had to play catch up. He could feel her warmth drifting through his suit and into his chest as her body pressed against his own. Her arms wrapped around his neck but applied no pressure no as not to hurt or aggravate his injures and by the time his mind had caught up his body had taken over on autopilot to rest his large hands on her slender hips. 

Harold opened his mouth to speak but he got too eager in tilting his neck to kiss her and hissed in pain.

“Shhh, it's okay, I'm sorry.”

She shifted a little then and hunched a bit so she could still kiss him without forcing him to crane his neck. Harbor took his hands and moved them from her hips to the zip of her dress and Harold took the hint. A voice at the back of his mind told him to stop, that this girl was too young and all the usual 'don't have sex with this girl because' things but his body was in charge now not his brain.

Slowly he pulled down the zip of her dress, the metal teeth quietly clinking as he did so and then her lips left his so she could shimmy out of it and toss it onto the coffee table. If he'd thought her stunning before seeing her naked left him speechless, smooth skin and a full chest but those eyes, he kept going back to those eyes. 

With a grin she pulled his tie loose and opened his waistcoat as he helped her by ridding himself of his suit jacket that shared a similar fate to her dress. He'd go no further though, Harbor was a goddess and he didn't want to tarnish her beauty with his pudgy tummy.

Their lips locked for a time in a heated kiss. Their tongues met in a battle for dominance that Harold quickly won – or at least she let him win. Their foreheads touched every now and again when they separated for air before letting their lips brush against each other's once more. Her scent flooded his senses, their kiss wasn't innocent more like a tease, hot, fiery, passionate and demanding.

Harold's hands were running up her thighs. Harbor was intoxicating and addictive, her body supple and delicate. The bespectacled man's warm lips encompassed Harbor's own, which kept her in a blissful state of pleasure. The fingers of his right hand ghosted up her flank and into long raven-hair as their eyes fell shut and their tongues met letting passion begin to sizzle away in their blood. He pulled the girl closer and closer, until the only thing in between them is the thin layers of his suit. Her breath was ragged and heavy, she arched into his touch, revelling in the warmth and care of his fingers as they trailed from her firm thigh to the wet heat between her legs. Harbor continued to kiss at his neck now it was exposed by his loosened tie and let out a gasp when his fingers raked over the gusset of her panties. 

Her hands slipped into his fluffy hair and nails scraped teasingly against his scalp causing his hips to buck without his consent; that got a purr from the stunning beauty atop him. Then she was at his belt and pushing herself up so he could pull her lace underwear off. That voice piped up again, something was wrong with this but the logic section of his brain had shut off in favor the 'Harbor's practically naked and on top of me' part. Finally he moved to her bra which contained her rather impressive cleavage he'd clocked on their very first meeting. Once it was off she leant back so he could see all of her, an ocean of perfect, porcelain skin straddling him while he was still fully clothes almost. If that was to make things easier on his injuries or because she didn't want to see him naked Harold honestly had no idea; he'd not got the processing power to figure it out in that moment. 

“You're beautiful.” He whispered.

At that her eyes changed, they softened and sparkled in the moonlight that shone through her window, but she didn't speak. Instead she reached into his silk boxers and took him in hand. Harold gasped as she pulled him free and skilfully worked him in her hand. Skilfully, sinfully, same thing. His eyes fluttered and his head fell back as much as his neck and all those metal pins would allow and then she reached away for something. Condom, if the sound of crinkling was any indication. Their lips met as she rolled it onto his length and in a burst of want that even he though was very unlike him, Harold gripped her hips and pulled her flush against him. Another deep kiss and she sank down onto his length with a delightful mew. 

Harold slipped almost all the way out before slamming back in to her wet heat with such force. Every moment was pure heaven, his hands gripped her hips and Harbor's snaked around his neck once again, lips locked. He started slow at first more to test the strength of his leg and lower spin than anything else, but soon he built up into a punishing rhythm of hard and fast that had Harbor panting and moaning for release. A thick layer of sweat coated their skin and shimmered in the evening light.

Harold could die a happy man being buried inside this angel with her panting into his ear. Knowing he wouldn't last much longer Finch reached down to cup her sex, rubbing in circles in time with his hard thrusts. She was on the edge and he knew it, reviled in it. White erupted behind her eyes when she finally came like a tsunami wave that wiped out everything except her euphoria. Her nails dug into his shoulders leaving behind crescent moon shaped bruises, despite his shirt and waistcoat, similar to the ones that would mark her hips. When her muscles clenched around him Harold could take it no longer and found his climax as well, erupting inside her and sating his desire.

He went limp against the couch then and just panted seemingly endlessly. She collapsed against him, her body wrapped around his as she sucked in desperately needed air. Harold had no idea how long they sat there, a minute, five and hour, he honestly didn't know and couldn't bring himself to care.

Then she chuckled and laughed and his bliss faded. “Buy a girl dinner and get her to put out, I see how it is. I wasn't even on the clock, good job your loaded, Mister fancy restaurant.”

God damnit! How had he been so stupid. His logic centre clicked back on and quickly started to berate him. Of course this had been a trick, she'd pitied an old man and then found out he was wealthy and played him. Money, that was the only way he'd  _ever_ get a woman as stunningly gorgeous as Harbor Caldwell. A woman that attractive wouldn't ever willing want to be with him, said woman would have to get something of worth out of it. It had all been a long con and now she she knew how to push his buttons as well.

Before Harold had even registered he'd moved he'd shoved Harbor off of him and struggled to his feet. He fascinated his belt after he'd quickly tugged himself away and tossed the used condom in a trash can by the couch. Harbor just watched him from the loveseat with a furrowed brow as he threw his clothes back on and quietly yelled at himself. 

“I should have known. God, how could I be so blind? So wilfully stupid?”

“What?” She asked quietly as he all but stomped around her living room.

From his suit jacket – that still hung half off one shoulder – he tugged free his wallet which had Harbor's brow furrowing deeper; not that he looked at her to see it. 

“How much are you?” Her eyes went wide. “This place isn't too expensive but still, and now you work for yourself so what a thousand? Two?” From the wallet came a stack of notes and honestly, who carried that much money around on a daily basis?

“You think I was playing you? That this was some con?” Harbor looked genuinely upset and as though she might cry. Harold would have noticed had he not gotten into his own head. “Well, I am just a whore. Get out!”

Harold didn't need telling twice, he shoved his wallet away and tossed the bills down on her coffee table.

“You're really had me going, Miss Caldwell, well-played. You can drop the act now.”

“Get out!” She screamed again.

He limped out of her apartment then, the only indication he'd ever been there being the naked woman crying on her couch. 

Harbor should have expected this, after all she was just a whore. Since when did a wealth, older guy want to spend time with a whore for her conversational skills?


	4. Women Will Surprise You, Finch

Several days went by before Reese had just plain had enough of it all. He and Harold were at the Library talking about a new Number – a young journalist who wanted to play cop and ended up in the middle of a gun running operation; a usual Monday for them – but Harold had seemed more distant than usual for days now. The man actually seemed depressed. He was distracted and irritant which was normal and not normal all at the same time. The ex-agent had known Finch long enough to figure out that whatever this mood of his was it leant more to the 'not normal' side of his personality. John had to ask, he couldn't have Harold like this while they tried to do their jobs. 

“Finch, what's going on?” He questioned as Finch took down the photographs from the board and set them aside.

“Nothing is wrong, Mister Reese.”

Yeah, John didn't buy that for a moment. For the last month or so Harold had seemed happier and yet he'd walked in one day miserable and had been ever since. It wasn't normal on the Finch scale of weird. The elder man sat himself down at his desk and turned his attention as best he could to the mass of screens. 

John sighed. “Look, Finch, I know you're a really private person and all but clearly something is bothering you and it's going to effect our work.”

“I'm fine,” Harold insisted “nothing is wrong.”

With that he tried to further ignore Reese's concern by tickling Bear who lounged in his bed but never let it be said John Reese gave up easily. He shifted himself to stand between Finch and Bear so Harold was forced to retract his hand unless he wanted to pet John's knee instead. Reese bent down and spun Harold's chair to better face him and leant on either arm so the secretive billionaire had no escape; he looked the elder man up and down for a moment and then smirked dirtily to himself. 

“It's a woman, isn't it? You sly dog, Harold.”

“It is non of your concern, Mister Reese. Now, If I could return to work-” Finch tried to move his chair back but Reese didn't let it shift an inch.

“No. Tell me. You got yourself a girl and yet here you are sulking. What is it? She not return your affections?” He teased in his best 'Harold' voice.

“Mister Reese, I-”

“Tell me, Finch.” This time John's voice was deeper and more authoritative.

Harold sighed knowing he'd really not get out of this with his usual 'I'm private' comments and that Reese could be like a dog with a bone when he wanted information; part of the reason Harold had hired him.

“Yes, I met a young woman … but I think I destroyed it.” He had the timidity to look ashamed of himself. “I... I think I made her cry.”

Reese's expression became unreadable as he straightened up and folded his arms across his chest.

“Explain.”

Suddenly Harold felt like he was a child again and in trouble with a teacher. He paused a few moments as he tried to figure out what to say to his friend.

“Do you remember our time at The Coronet Hotel?” Said Finch slowly and John nodded curtly. “While I was working the desk I was approached by a young woman who had seemed to figure out that I did not belong, that I was lying about who I am.” That got a raised eyebrow from the taller man and the expression got words just falling out of Finch's mouth. “She is an escort who was working for Fowler. After I took over the hotel I met her in the bar purely accidentally and we became friendly, she has quite the unique mind, Mister Reese and I enjoyed her company. She didn't know I owned the hotel or who I am and even though she knew I lied about my name she made no attempt to figure out who I really am.”

“So you've been flirting with a hooker. Get to the point, Finch.”

Harold sighed deeply, perhaps he wasn't explaining this very well.

“Oh, she is far more than a common _hooker_ , Mister Reese. She is very intelligent and has a very unique mind.” He halted for a second the next bit was going to make him sound like an asshole. “Well, last night I took her to dinner, purely platonically , I assure you.” 

That trademark John Reese smug grin settled on his lips. “But it didn't last that way long, did it?”

Finch shook his head. “No, it did not.” Another sigh, that was becoming all too common an occurrence today. “She invited me up to her apartment after I took her home and we were talking about her collection of literature when we ended up … you know.”

“And?” He asked expectantly. “You said you made a whore cry so I know there's more to this story.”

“Please do not refer to Harbor as a whore, Mister Reese.” He bit out before realizing he'd basically said the same thing to her that night. “Afterwards she slipped up, she knew I am very wealthy and clearly had been working an easy target for as much money as she could.”

“If it's a game then how did you make her cry? What did she say exactly, Harold?”

“Buy a girl dinner and get her to put out, I see how it is. I wasn't even on the clock, good job your loaded, Mister fancy restaurant.”

Reese rolled his eyes and rested his head in his palm. “Finch,” he began exasperatedly, “I think your girl was making a joke.

“Yes, I now realize that myself. At the time I was in my own thoughts and thought I might have been compromised. My insecurities manifested in anger.” 

“Finch, it sounds to me like the girl may be a hooker, but she wasn't with you.” 

Finch fixed his blue orbs back on the ground as he nodded sorrowfully to himself. It was just Harbor was so perfect that he felt himself severely unworthy of her. He had game when he wanted to but surely not with that goddess of a woman. That stunning, that smart, that good-hearted _and_ genuinely attracted to Harold? He couldn't quite believe it. 

“I know. I think she hates me now though and I wouldn't blame her.”

“Nah, a girl who has sex with you won't be scared off quite so quickly by you being a dick. Go talk to your girl, Harbor was it?” 

Since when had John been so supportive? _Always_ , his mind answered.

“I doubt she'll want anything to do with me now, Mister Reese. Now, shall we return to the task at hand?”

Reese shrugged and reached down to tickle Bear's ears.

“Women will surprise you, Finch. You left Grace, I don't blame you, I know why, but you don't have to be alone forever.” 

Harold didn't want to talk more about it after John said Grace's name, he'd get lost in his head again and he'd already proven that was a terrible idea.

They went back to work but Harold's mind kept bringing the subject back to him and he _hated_ that John was right. He should just vanish, to send flowers with an apology and never go near her again. Safer for both of them. But he didn't want to, Harbor deserved face to face.

After the day's second Number had been dealt with, saved and provided with a new identity, Finch took a trip to the florist. The hour was late and he knew how hard they worked with so little gratitude or thanks, that they just wanted to close and go home to their families but he needed that arrangement. In the end he'd been so apologetic and understanding that these things took time and cost money that that they'd forgiven him. Probably helped that he'd paid double what he'd thought necessary for an apology. 

That was how he found himself riding the elevator up to Harbor's apartment after the sun had gone down with a five-hundred dollar vase arrangement. The florists had managed to put something together in cool colors, all whites and purples that Harold thought would appeal to Harbor. Large sprigs of Pussy Willow and Lisianthus created a point at the top of the front facing arrangement while Limonium and Eucalyptus broke up the white roses and Gerbera, the Hydrangea really was a focal point and the lilac Carnations added a touch of old world elegance. Then there were the orchids, the whole thing was just full of orchids. 

He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached her door, his limp and the weight of the vase had almost become too much to bear. Harold knocked, the flower obscuring his view of her door, but no answer came. He knocked again, louder than before but still no answer came. 

“Harbor?” He called. “Harbor, it's Harold! I wanted to say sorry!”

Still no response came and then an elder woman from the apartment opposite yanked open her door and stuck her head out with such violent force that Harold jumped and nearly dropped the arrangement as he spun to face her.

“Shut up.” She growled, for a woman in what had to be her seventies she was bloody terrifying. “That slut isn't here.” 

Obviously this woman wasn't a fan of Harbor and had no issue making the fact known. Harold ignored it.

“I don't suppose you know where Harbor is, do you, Madam?” He asked politely as he longed to put the flowers down.

“I have no idea and I don't care. Go pay for another strumpet or better yet, go home to your wife.”

'Strumpet'? That wasn't a word he'd heard in a very long time. The woman slammed her door shut again leaving Finch alone in the hallway. He sighed, deep and exasperated, then carefully so as not to put any more strain on his leg and hip Harold set the vase down n the floor. However, when he glanced up again he noticed an envelope with his name neatly written on it duct taped to her white door. Harold's brow furrowed deeply as he unstuck it. His heart dropped when he saw what had been left inside, all the money he'd dumped on her coffee table; every single dollar of it. Harold couldn't have hated himself anymore than he did in that moment. 

He stood there a time blankly staring at the money and then, knowing he could do no more if she wasn't there, Harold left.

~X~

The next morning when Reese arrived at the Library with Bear hot on his heels he found Harold at his desk, which was to be expected, and set a cup of his favorite Sencha green tea before him. As soon as Finch greeted him though Reese could tell things with this Harbor girl hadn't gone well; still he asked anyway.

“So, Finch, how did it go with your girl?”

He saw his boss tense while Bear sniffed at his bed before collapsing in it happily. Harold sipped at his tea a time, Reese wasn't stupid he recognized it as stalling quite easily; finally Finch had no choice but to answer.

“I tried yesterday to apologize. I... took flowers but she wasn't at her apartment.”

Amazingly Reese grabbed a chair and sat down beside Harold with a concerned expression, Finch watched him out the corner of his eye; he tickled Bear absent-mindedly.

“How you feeling, Harold?” The concern was evident in his voice. 

“I don't need you to check up on me, Mister Reese. I thank you for your concern but it really isn't needed.”

Reese rolled his eyes, there went the ever solitary Harold Finch.

“Just checking on a friend, Finch.” The taller man shrugged. “Besides, it's not everyday your reclusive boss meets a woman.”

Harold flashed him a look, unimpressed. “You don't have to act like Harbor and I are talking about settling down.”

Reese smirked at that, his shoulders wobbled up and down as he tried to picture Harold settling down after all that had happened. He doubted Finch even knew how to have a normal life, maybe he had done once but not any longer.

“Of course not, Finch.”

Knowing he'd not get anything else out of the bespectacled man John let Harold fill him in on their latest Number and the two men got to work quickly.

Later while Reese was hunting down a lead and Shaw was off doing whatever it was Shaw did when she'd dumped the phones he'd given her, Harold found himself forced to get out in the field and follow a mark through the park. The man had proven surprisingly easy to follow which was refreshing for the billionaire, his limp didn't often make things easy. However, as he distractedly followed the man he all but walked into the woman who approached him.

“Hi, Hank.”

Harbor. Finch found his eyes flicking between his mark and the escort who looked wonderful in her yellow dress.

“Hello, Harbor.”

There meeting was a little awkward but both supposed that was to be expected considering their last parting. His eyes continued to flit back and forth but fortunately for Finch the man he was following – Conrad Kenda – had sat down to eat his lunch. 

“I got your flowers.” She began once the silence had stretched on too long. “They're beautiful, thank you.”

Finch cleared his throat as people passed around them. “I needed to do something to apologize. While I know something so simple can't make up for my actions I-”

She cut him off before he got too into a speech.

“It's okay, Hank.” Harold's eyes widened at that. “After you left and I was done being angry with you I realized what I said did kind of sound like I wanted money. I think we were both idiots.” 

Was she apologizing to him? After what he'd said to Harbor he'd expected her to throw something at him not say _she_ was sorry. He wasn't used to this, trying to go through social norms, wasn't even entirely sure if he knew what was considered a social norm. 

“You might be right.” He said as he surreptitiously stole a look at Mister Kenda. “Will you forgive me?”

She smiled at him softly; those dazzling green-eyes twinkled.

“I already have.” Harold felt himself relax, he didn't feel like he deserved that. “I'd have called but well, you're-”

“Paranoid?”

Harbor chuckled and tucked her hands into the pockets in the skirt of her dress; he couldn't help but notice the way her dark-brown lipstick stood out against her smooth, pale skin.

“ I was going to say 'you' but yes.” The way he kept glancing at the man across the way sat on a bench and eating a sandwich from a plastic lunch box; it got her to raise a questioning eyebrow. “What are you up to, Hank? Is this something to do with your secret job?”

 _Secret job? Is that what she calls it?_ Mister Reese would do doubt find that amusing.

“Em, yes it is, Harbor.”

Then something happened that he'd not expected, she didn't want questions galore answered, didn't want his secrets.

“Can I help?” She asked brightly.

Finch laughed out a sigh. “Only if you can get a keycard off a man who seems more paranoid than myself. It's clipped to his belt but he keeps his hand on it when moving around. Right now he's eating and still has a hand on it.”

Sure enough when Harbor lowered her eyes from the man's face there was his hand rested on his keycard; odd but everyone was a little odd about something.

“So you need it swapping with that one?” Harbor asked as she gestured to where Harold had his hand in his pocket holding something.

Instead of questioning how she'd noticed that small little detail Harold simply nodded. Before he could say a single word Harbor had reached into his pocket, grabbed the replacement keycard and strutted over to the bench to sit beside Mister Kenda. Harold just stood there his mind lost in the scent of her light perfume; lipstick and perfume, yeah, Harbor wasn't working. 

Finch had no choice but to watch as Harbor crossed her legs in such a way that it showed off her legs and upper thigh, she pushed her shoulders back a bit to put her chest on display and then struck up conversation with Conrad Kenda; who looked mightily surprised to suddenly have the angelic beauty known as Harbor Caldwell talking to him. Harold couldn't help but smirk as she leant in when Conrad made an attempt at flirting; she really could put a man at ease.

The keycard was what had Harold's attention though, just a small sliver of plastic but he needed to be able to copy it and he couldn't do that if the man never let go of the bloody thing. Blue orbs saw Kenda's hand finally,  _finally_ , release it so he could turn fully to face the escort. Harbor shuffled in closer and at one point slightly pressed against him as if whispering something. Then she was back on her feet and strode towards Finch, he could hear the clacking of her heels and still found himself wondering how she could walk in those things. Kenda just sat with a half eaten sandwich in one hand and a perplexed expression on his slightly chubby face. He accepted the keycard that she quickly slipped into his hand and then looped their arms together so they could leave before the man became suspicious about the switch.

“Thank you, Harbor, you have been most helpful.”

She shrugged as she walked along at his pace, her ponytail swished with the motion. 

“I'm full of uses.” Harbor chuckled. “And I am sorry.”

Harold shook his head. “No, no, you have nothing to be sorry about, I was not only rude but cruel and highly out of character.” 

“We're both dumb.” Harbor surmised before taking a calming breath which seemed to dismiss the whole situation as water under the bridge. “Do you want to get coffee, well I've never seen you drink coffee.”

“I prefer Sencha green tea, which I would very much like a cup of.”

Harbor pulled a face as they walked, all scrunched up. “I hate that stuff, it's vile. Coffee all the way for me.”

Finch had wanted to sit down and talk with Harbor after they'd gotten their drinks but then Mister Reese had texted him demanding to know why his earpiece was off and how things had gone with Conrad Kenda. No rest for the wicked it seemed. Reluctantly he had to excuse himself.

Harbor smirked. “Off to see your mystery man, hmm, Hank? Sure you're not gay?”

Finch wouldn't admit – even to himself – how happy he'd been to hear that nickname again. He possessed precious few friends and very much wanted to keep Harbor as one even if they never had sex again.

“I'm quite certain, yes.” _Although there was that one time back at MIT when Nathan and I got very drunk._ “Thank you for the tea, Harbor. I just have to go help a friend.”

“Speaking of which, are we friends again?”

Was Harold reading too much into it or did Harbor's eyes sparkle with hope? He nodded, well did that slow head wobble of his that meant he was nodding.

“I'd like that, Harbor.” When she smiled and responded with a sweet 'me too' his heart soared. “I really must go. Bye.”

Finch would be lying if he said he didn't glance back at her sat there drinking her coffee as he left for the Library. 

Miss Caldwell remained sat on the bench as she drank her coffee, black as night and sweet as sin, the whole time grinning to herself; to anyone else she most likely appeared insane. Green-eyes watched people as they went this way and that doing their own thing and living their lives. Birds chirped high up in trees and dogs barked somewhere behind her but she didn't care. Harold Dove – _Hank_ – had been the first person to actually care about her since her father had died when she was sixteen, she'd not wanted to loose the suit clad man … and she hadn't. 

Once she was finished she tossed her empty cup in the nearest trash can and checked her phone for the time, best to head back to her little apartment for a shower and then her long list of shit she had to do to make herself presentable; she did have a client that evening after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I'm a florist? Sorry for the tirade.


	5. A Middle-aged, Paranoid Man With A Limp

John didn't know precisely what had happened between his friend and the prostitute but he damn well knew something had. Harold had come back to the Library one afternoon with tea, a keycard and a smile; the man had been positively pleasant ever since. It was the hooker, this Harbor girl, but getting information out of Harold Finch was harder than getting a millennial to part with his man bun. Finch hadn't even let Shaw get to him.

Reese didn't need to ask, he knew it was the escort, frankly he wanted to meet a woman who could have such a hold over a man like Harold so easily. The only logical explanation for Mister grumpy Finch turning into Mister not-happy-but-happier-than-normal Finch was that he'd seen the hooker and somehow gotten her to forgive his idiocy.

The ex-agent didn't say it, but he was happy for Harold. Finch had told him multiple times that people deserved a second chance and happiness and now it seemed that he might actually be taking a leaf out his own book. He could understand _why_ Harold couldn't go back to Grace, why he wouldn't, but Finch needed someone to – if nothing else – help him get rid of some tension; Reese had played gay before but he sure as hell wasn't doing it with his boss who needed a woman. Well, Reese had his suspicions at the start but the escort was around now so he'd put a pin in the 'my boss might be bisexual' thought.

Reese obviously hadn't met Harbor and probably wouldn't if Harold had anything to say about it, but if she was an escort then he could imagine what she looked like. While he wanted her to be a sweet and kind woman who saw the goodness in Harold's heart, there was always the possibility she was playing some kind of long con. After some of the Numbers they'd had John knew just how far people would go to get money. Oh how Reese longed for this woman to just be a girl that understood and genuinely liked Harold. Finch could be standoffish, pedantic, irritable, and at times just plain vexing but there was goodness and a strange playfulness under all of that that Reese had seen peek out on occasion. Grace had to have seen it too, if she hadn't she'd not have loved him. 

Maybe it wasn't Reese's place to say anything since he was technically an employee, maybe as Harold's friend it was his duty to say something. John didn't know either way but before a conclusion had been made they'd gotten yet another Number and had rushed back to saving lives. 

~X~

Harbor had just put her pyjamas on and finished drying her long, raven-hair when she heard a knock at the door. _Strange_ , she thought as an eyebrow raised, _no one ever comes here._ Harbor never met her clients at her home, always a hotel or somewhere else. A tad cautiously she stepped towards her white door and cleared her throat so she could call out.

“Who is it?”

“It's Harold!” The bespectacled man called back from the hallway.

Sure enough when she looked through the peep-hole there was Harold dressed in one of his Glen Check suits. A smile spread across Harbor's face and she quickly opened the door for him to come in. Once he was in the door he found his brow furrowing, it was four in the afternoon and yet this young woman was stood before him in her sleep attire, which consisted of a pair of little cotton shorts and a white tank top. 

“Hank, I didn't expect you.” She said sort of stating the obvious.

Harold nodded to himself more than Harbor. “No, I suppose not. I'm sorry I really should have called first-”

He started but Harbor just shrugged him off.

“It's okay, Hank.”

Finch cleared his throat and glanced around a bit awkwardly; he sort of looked like a schoolboy giving his first Valentine's Day card to a girl.

“I just wanted to say again how sorry I am. I never meant to offend you and I still feel awful about it.”

She smiled at that, a soft and meaningful smile as her head tilted a little to the side. Harbor gestured to the couch then and for him to sit down which he did, though not without a little trepidation. Harold remembered every second of what had happened on that loveseat, every perfect moment until he'd destroyed it. Harbor sat down beside him and crossed her legs which showed off more of her lovely legs; smooth, inviting thighs. 

“I brought you this, I thought you'd appreciate it in your collection.”

Harbor seemed shocked when he handed her a small book, old and leather bound. Her eyes raked over the book and then a look of amazement took over. _The Island of Doctor Moreau, s_ he smiled remembering when their first meeting at the diner.

“You didn't have to get me a present, Hank.” She whispered without taking her green-eyes from the book. “Especially a first edition!”

“I know but still.” Harold shrugged a little awkwardly.

The raven-haired beauty kissed him then, softly on the cheek almost exactly like before, their eyes locked and then she was kissing him properly. She smelt of coconuts and her skin was so lusciously warm. It took Harold a moment of fighting the urge grab Harbor by her hips and pulled her to him but he managed, instead he parted their lips and looked up at her with pale blue-eyes. Finch couldn't let this keep going. 

“Why?”

The escort's brow furrowed with puzzlement. God, she smelt so perfect. “Why what?”

“Why do you keep kissing me?”

She laughed at that, for a split second Harold had thought she was laughing _at_ him but no, the sweet smile proved him wrong. Harbor's eyes sparkled in the afternoon light and Harold had no doubt that her smile could ease the fear of a dying man.

“Because I like kissing you.” She told him as though it were all very simple, and maybe it was, Harold had always found it hard to stop thinking. “And you're very attractive.”

Harold didn't fully understand her reasoning. In his mind, while he wasn't ugly, he wasn't anything compared to this goddess; it was the key thought that had gotten him to screw everything up before. Finch just stared blankly at the much younger woman for a time until he finally remembered to talk. 

“You're stunningly beautiful, wildly intelligent and everything any sane man could ever wish for.” He understood machines not people. “You can do so much better than wasting your time on a middle-aged, paranoid man with a limp.”

Something in the way she looked at him changed then, softened, it wasn't pity but it certainly wasn't happy; like she'd realized something.

“I don't care what you look like, Harold.” Harbor said quietly. “You have the most beautiful heart of anyone I've ever met and that's more important.”

Harold's heart clenched. Did she understand him? Did she see past the limp, the metal pins, all the secrets and lies to see all he wanted was to keep people safe and alive? Was Harbor truly someone he could relax around and just be happy for a time before the horrors of the world and his Machine returned to him? When she set down the book and leant in to kiss him again Harold knew the answer was yes. Harbor was his friend, or his friend with benefits, or whatever one wanted to call it. 

“Come with me, Hank.”

So he did. Harold let her lead him by the hand from the loveseat and into her bedroom. On the way Harold couldn't help noticing the poster of the man with the guitar, he still didn't know who the man was save for some musician, but Finch and this man didn't look anything even remotely alike. If the man in the poster with his dark-hair, black painted nails, guyliner and powerful jawline, was Harbor's type then she must have though Finch to have a truly good heart to overlook his physical appearance. Truthfully the only thing he and the man in the poster had in common was the fact they were both clearly a lot older than Harbor. He tried to ignore it. 

The prostitute's bedroom wasn't overly large but it sufficed well enough. The whole room was decorated in black, gray and silver, a color scheme that quickly had Harold confirming her Gothic streak. Harold raised an eyebrow when he saw a small cushion adored with the same musician's face; Harbor seemed to notice because she left him a moment to toss it onto the floor out of sight. 

As soon as he was in arms reach again Harbor grabbed him by the tie and tugged him towards her slowly; little to no pressure on his neck for which he mentally thanked her. He trailed his large hands down her flanks until they rested on her hips and she smiled at him when Finch flicked his eyes up to find her biting her lip in what had to be the most seductive thing he'd ever seen before. 

“You truly are beautiful.” He breathed.

“You're not so bad yourself, Hank.”

With a slight push he took the hint to sit down on the end of her bed. Stood before him he realized just how little her pyjamas left to the imagination, he could see a good two-thirds of her thighs and a significant amount of her cleavage; tantalizing. Had Finch not been staring right at her he'd have thought her eyes digitally enhanced. She bent to press a light kiss to his lips and then Harbor slipped down onto her knees and opened his belt quickly with skilled, nimble fingers. He gasped when she reached into his silk boxers to take him in hand. If Harold wasn't mistaken she chuckled a little.

“A gasp? I haven't even gotten started yet.” She teased.

Then he felt the warmth of her mouth envelop his quickly hardening length. Harold gasped louder and fisted the sheets until his fingertips turned white. _Fuck, she's good at this._ Suddenly he felt too hot – much too hot – and shoved off his suit jacket and waistcoat before he started on the tie which had been left loose from her tugging him close. Harbor hummed around his length and when he peered down there were those green emeralds sparkling up at him.

The older man's hips jolted up without his permission as a loud groan escaped his parted lips. Harold managed to release his grip on her duvet – at least with his right hand he did – and snared his fingers into her long, ever so slightly damp locks; Harold had meant to just hold her there but his traitorous body had him jerk her head back to a better angle. For a split second he chastised himself, thought he'd hurt her but then shuffled closer and hummed as her hands grasped his thighs.

“Fuck-”

Finch always tried to stay polite and well-mannered but in that moment with a beautiful twenty-two year old's mouth wrapped around his cock, Harold didn't fucking care.

He could feel it, his want, his desire, his urge for this girl rushing to the surface.  _Not yet._

“H... Harbor, stop. darling, stop.”

Only a little reluctantly did she release him. Harold's mouth hung open a moment before he could open his eyes again and regain his composure. Harbor's lips met Finch's for a bruising kiss as she rose up on her knees. She made quick work of his buttons, her nails made a faint clicking noise against them while she unbuttoned each one. Harold's hand rested atop the escort's when she reached the last one.

“I know you said you didn't care what I look like,” he breathed, “but I'm not like the man in your poster.”

Harbor chuckled. “No one is like Richard, he's the epitome of perfection... but that doesn't mean there aren't other kinds of perfection, Hank.”

The bespectacled man let her undo the last button and then carefully push his white shirt off his shoulders and down his arms before it got cast to the ground. He wasn't fat, pudgy was a better word, with a light spattering of graying hair across his chest. Once again Harold found himself thinking how average he looked, especially compared to Harbor but he threw the thought away. They were both on the same page this time, he wasn't paying for her and Harbor had every chance to reject him leading up to this; she hadn't. He couldn't help but notice when her dazzling green orbs spotted the spattered shrapnel scars along his abdomen and sides, most had been superficial and faded but some hung around repetitively prominently. Harold _refused_ to think of the ferry bombing, not now, not with Harbor. To Harold's surprise she didn't ask, didn't have pity wash over her face, no, instead she quietly leant in and placed a kiss over one of the more noticeable ones; an action that warmed his heart.

Harbor kissed him again. “Want to know a secret, Hank?”

“All right.” He managed to say between kisses.

“Hands, you can always tell what sort of person someone is based off them alone.” 

“And what do mine say?” He enquired in a breathless voice.

Harbor took his hand in her own and laced their fingers together.

“They're soft but not excessively so which means you work with your hands but it's not hard labor, they're palish too so you spend a lot of time inside. You're fingertips though, they're heavily calloused so my guess is you spend all your time tapping away at a computer, since I doubt you're a concert pianist.”

 _Neat trick._ “That doesn't really sound like a secret, Harbor.” Harold pointed out and gave nothing away.

The raven-haired beauty smirked as she rested her cheek against the back of his hand where it held her own.

“That's not the secret. The secret is my favourite bit of a man is always his hands, and yours are damn adorable.”

He separated their hands then so he could cup her cheek and pull her towards him for another kiss, so much went on in that brain of hers, she noticed so much and Harold doubted many people had ever noticed before.

Easily Harbor rose to her feet, she stood tall with him sat on the bed. She smiled seductively at him. Another day he'd wonder how many others had been lucky enough to gaze at that smile.

“Want me to take it all off?” She questioned innocently.

“Very much so.”

“Then you'd best help, hadn't you.”

With a teasing chuckle Harbor reached to tug off her tank top while Harold slid the little cotton shorts down her firm thighs. Fuck, he could die a happy man. He'd seen her naked before but that had been in silvery moonlight while this was lit by the sun; Harold just sat there a moment to take in her beauty before she knocked him out of it abruptly.

“How do you want to do this?” Harbor's voice remained soft and lyrical but it still ground the bespectacled man to a dead stop.

“Hmm?” He peered up at her with confusion.

“Last time we were on my sofa, your neck was supported. I don't want you getting hurt just for me.” 

Harold's eyes trailed down to the floor as he took off his glasses and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Harbor, not to kill the mood,” he began slowly “but I'm always in pain, it's constant. On good days it's a three and on bad days-” Harold trailed off a moment with a breathy sigh. “On bad days my body just... malfunctions. When I'm with you though, somehow that three turns into a two.” 

Suddenly she straddled him and pressed her lips to his, forcefully but not so much so that he had to crane his neck.

“That may well be the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Harold raised a puzzled eyebrow. “Didn't kill the mood?”

She shook her head. “No. Now,” she grinned “how do you want me?”

He smirked. “I'm afraid you won't be getting any unique positions out of me.” 

“Oh Hank, I'm happy with just one _really_ good normal position.”

Her teasing truly knew no bounds and Harold had to admit he adored it. However, when he thought about it, just because she spent her time with so many men didn't mean they were all memorable or overly enjoyable encounters.

Eventually he shifted her to lay on her back as he pushed off the last of his clothes only to be presented with a condom. Then he was on her, his leg and hip protested but hey when didn't it?  Her skin was sublime under under his calloused fingertips 

Harold ignored the burn in his neck so he could press his lips to Harbor's own. She made a small sound somewhere between a whimper and a purr as her hands went to his shoulders desperately. Finch kissed and nipped his way down the young raven-haired beauty's body where he soon reached her breasts and took a nipple between his teeth which forced a moan from her parted lips. God she felt so good and he'd barley even touched her.

“Hank.” She whispered though didn't seem aware of her utterance of his name.

Awkwardly Harold managed to support himself on his left arm so his right hand could reach down to tease her, Harbor gasped against his lips; all breathy and hot which filled him with a masculine pride he'd never known he'd craved.

Harbor's hips bucked up against his hand wantonly and Finch grinned as his tongue plundered her mouth. Such a beautiful and perfect creature all lay out before him, wanting him. The bespectacled man's eyes caressed her supple body. So beautiful, so perfect, so utterly stunning.

Harold would have taken his own sweet time with Harbor in his arms but he'd been worried and concerned after their first encounter that his body now just vibrated with an animalistic want, he'd been unable to touch her; now he could, now he'd been so graciously invited to. He'd almost driven him mad. Harold just couldn't resist her after all that, his want was too strong. With one sharp thrust Finch buried himself inside her wet heat. 

Harbor arched her back into his touch. “Harold.” She mewed. “Please. Harold, harder.” She told him breathlessly as her legs snaked around the older man's hips to keep him close.

Her hips met his in a perfect rhythm and Harold didn't want to know how long it had taken her to learn how to match it so skilfully. Reese had been right, Harbor was an escort but not when she was with Harold.

“I didn't take you for someone so needy, darling.” He could do some light teasing of his own if he wanted.

Harbor practically clawed at his back trying to keep him close and Harold didn't mind, in fact his body cried out for it, the physical contact he regularly avoided or was deprived of. Usually the most touch Finch got was when doctors examined his neck or when Mister Reese patted him on the shoulder in that 'ya did good, kid' way of his. This though, oh he'd savor Harbor's touch, let it fill his mind and comfort him later... not that he'd ever admit that. 

The growl that escaped him after a particularly sharp thrust was a deep and guttural one that almost – _almost –_ pushed the escort over the edge and into the tidal wave that was euphoric bliss. Harbor cried out with want as fingers once again clawed at his shoulders. The young woman's walls quivered down around the tech genius' hard length and Finch groaned into her neck as his grip on her tightened and he tumbled over the edge and came with a gasped cry. His thin lips met Harbor's tantalizing ones while his girl's hips still searched him out as they rode out the end of their pleasurable highs.

Later he'd wish he'd lasted longer and do his usual worry about everything thing but in that moment he just kissed the beauty beneath him and ignored the throbbing in his hip and back. Harold looked down at her destroyed and debauched face with a satisfied expression before he shifted to lay on the bed beside her; being flat again certainly helped ease the shooting pains in his neck.

Something inside Harold told him he shouldn't have been surprised but he still was when Harbor rolled onto her right side and snuggled up against him. She rested her head on his chest and let a hand lay atop his pudgy stomach, Finch's body moved automatically and wrapped an arm around her to keep the raven-haired woman close. No one knew but Harold Finch was actually a rather tactile person, he enjoyed the post-coital cuddling but very rarely found himself in a situation where it was welcomed or wanted. Harbor though? Well, Finch had quickly come to learn she wasn't like any other woman and it wasn't fair to try and compare her to any, former conquest or not. 

It took the bespectacled man a few minutes but it eventually dawned on him; Harold was happy. He had a beyond beautiful woman naked in his arms and his body was sated. Harold Finch was happy. 


	6. Wanna Party?

The next morning Harold awoke in a strange place to a stream of golden sunlight glaring in his face. For a moment he remained frozen but a few seconds of looking around the strange bedroom reminded him where he was; Harbor's apartment. It had been the mid afternoon when he'd shown up to see her and give her the book but clearly the sun had risen once again so he must have been there all night. Had his body been _that_ desperate for sleep? Knowing himself Harold didn't have a hard time figuring out the answer to that.

As he put on his clothes, pleased they weren't overly creased – he found his bizarre absence hadn't caused a panic because he only had one text from Mister Reese informing him that he'd had to 'take care' of something before Reese met him at The Library.

He pulled Harbor's closet door opening suspecting there was a mirror on the inside and sure enough there was, however, he'd not seen a closet so packed since … well, ever really. Harold suspected one could get lost and never seen again if they didn't know their way around. Finch ignored it in favour of doing up his tie and straightening his waistcoat and pocket square. Once his shoes were securely back on his feet Harold took a breath and went in search of Harbor.

The second he left her bedroom the scent of fresh toast filled his nose and his stomach rumbled agreeably. When he glanced over to the small kitchen area he spotted the raven-haired escort with her back to him as she went about her morning. She must have heard him or maybe the door close because green-eyes flashed up to him brightly. Harbor sauntered over to the suit clad man to give him a kiss and a cup full of steaming tea. 

“Morning.” Harold couldn't resist snaking the hand not holding the cup around her waist. “I don't have any green tea so I hope Earl Grey is alright, it's the only tea I like.”

He wasn't quite sure what was happening her, this strange domestic-ness but he knew deep down it was nothing but dangerous for Harbor. He sipped his tea, perfect. 

“No, I don't mind and thank you.”

“You're welcome.” God she felt so good pressed against him. “Breakfast?”

Harold shook his head as much as his neck would allow before he took a larger sip of tea.

“Thank you but no, I have to go to work.”

Harbor chuckled as she suspected 'go to work' didn't really cover the extent of what Harold did. Those green orbs continued to sparkle up at him. She still wore her pyjamas but he could see her hair had been brushed and loosely curled. 

“Are you ever going to tell me what you really do?” Harold just flashed her a look. “Didn't think so.”

She didn't try to force or coax answers out of him, just accepted his lack of an answer; it was why Harold felt he could relax around her. Harbor rose up onto her tip-toes and pressed her lips to his, it wasn't a deeply passionate kiss but it wasn't chaste either and Finch felt his arm tighten around her without his permission. 

“Thank you for my book, Hank. I love it, I really do.” Another kiss, softer this time. “I need to go get dressed and do my make up. If you want toast just help yourself.”

With that the younger woman vanished off into her bedroom leaving Harold alone. He stood there in the space between her sofa and her bedroom door a time while he finished his tea then set the cup down in the sink and finished straightening his suit as best he could. After a breath he left the apartment calling out a 'goodbye, Harbor' just before the door shut behind him.

Finch limped down onto the street and breathed in the morning air a moment, people were already rushing around despite it still being early but Harold didn't mind the hubbub. He glanced up to Harbor's apartment then started his journey towards The Library; he had a spare stash of clothes there for him to change into before Mister Reese showed up and started to interrogate him. 

He let himself into the old library and up the stairs into their headquarters in silence, clearly Reese hadn't arrived yet so Harold had plenty of time to change. However, as soon as he had pulled a pile of fresh folded clothes from a drawer he ground to a halt hearing a voice he knew well; a voice he'd heard purr his name. 

“So this is your hidey-hole.” 

Finch's eyes went wide as he dropped his clothes down onto the desk that held his mass of screens. He stood there amazed without turning to face her. He  _always_ noticed when people tried to follow him, how had she? _Because you didn't think she'd follow you,_ his mind told him unhelpfully, _you weren't paying attention to her._ Finally he turned to face the escort.

“Harbor-”

She sighed and cut him off. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm not supposed to be here. Sorry, I was just curious and I honestly didn't intend to follow you and by the time I realized I was it was sort of too late to give up.” She came closer, her heels clacked on the floor. “I know I told you I wasn't going to try and figure you out but after the guy with the keycard I just had to know, I'm not asking for details I just want to... I don't even know. Are you CIA? NSA? Some other government acronym?” 

Harold sighed as he looked at her, if this had happened a few months back he'd have assumed her a spy of some sort and cut her out completely, moved their HQ and killed off any alias she could have known about but … it wasn't months ago and he knew she was no spy. Harold sighed again.

“We're not government, Harbor, and I can't tell you what it is we do.”

She'd suspected that and nodded. “I understand. Just answer one question and then I'll leave and never come back here. Never ask again if you don't want me to.”

It took him a moment to force all his paranoia and worry down into a box and secure it but finally Finch managed it. 

“And what would that be?”

“Do you help people?”

That question alone told him Harbor meant him, Reese nor their operation any harm. She didn't care what he did or how he did it just so long as he helped people. So he nodded when she came closer.

“Yes, we help people. It's basically our sole purpose.”

Harbor seemed sated with that answer. “Okay then.”

She slipped her arms around his neck and drew him into a kiss before those skilled hands of hers went up to mess up his hair.

“I love how fluffy your hair is.”

Fluffy? Good God is that really how people saw it? That thought would come back to irk him later. It was nice to not have his paranoia burning away for once. He was quite surprised when he found his lips on Harbor's instead of him ushering her out of The Library. She looked delectable in her white cold shoulder top and little black skirt, her lips were a dark plum indicating she'd not be seeing a client that day as well. 

Somehow Finch ended up with her on his desk as he plundered her mouth, her legs wrapped around his already crinkled and creased suit pants. Neither were exactly sure if it was him, her or both of them that tasted of Earl Grey but neither overly cared. 

Bear barked then and Harold turned bodily to see Reese and Bear stood halfway down the hall just staring at them. Finch instantly backed up for propriety's sake while Harbor pushed her skirt back down to cover her thighs then hopped down from the desk. With a smile she approached Reese only for Bear to growl. 'Ontspan' Reese called which got Harbor's eyes to light up as she bent to address the dog. 

“Ooh, Dutch! Af Liggen.” 

Bear quickly lay down only for Reese's eyebrows to shoot up to the point they almost vanished into his graying hair. She must have noticed the tall man's sudden distress because she straightened up and flashed Reese a smile. And wasn't this girl way out of Finch's league. 

“Sorry, I taught myself Dutch among others.”

It was Harold's turn to raise an eyebrow, he'd already known she'd learnt French, German and Russian with a lot of help from her photographic memory but he'd not realized Dutch was in there too.  _There can't be any more … can there?_

Reese mentally shook himself then stuck his hand out for Harbor to shake. “I'm John Reese, this is Bear.”

“Hi, I'm Harbor.” Green-eyes noticed the looks Hank and Reese shot one another. “And I was just on my way out. Bye, Bear.” She tickled the animal's ears then peered over her shoulder to Harold who – quite frankly – looked like a deer caught in headlights. “Bye, Hank.”

Once she was gone Harold found himself pounced upon by John, the very second Harold had sat in his chair Reese was there by his side with that questioning face of his.

“How the hell did she find this place, Finch? We don't just bring our girlfriends over whenever we feel like it.” 

Harold sighed. “She is not my _girlfriend,_ Mister Reese, and Harbor is of no threat. I have been through her history and there isn't a single discrepancy, she is who she claims to be. Yes, she's a little odd but then again so are you and I.” 

“Doesn't mean you can go letting her in here, Finch.”

Harold fully understood John's concern, roles reversed he'd have been worried as well.

“It was a mistake to let her follow me here, I know that, but I … _trust_ her.”

Well, that surprised him. Harold never trusted anyone, he made it a rule. In fact the only person he'd trusted since Nathan had died was Reese but Harbor? Trusting her had crept up on him, he'd had no idea until that very moment.

John's concern softened when he saw how serious his friend was. He still wasn't overly pleased but he'd pretend to be for the time being; wasn't like Reese couldn't deal with Harbor if he needed to. With a sigh he sat down and put his feet up on the desk near Harold's keyboard – something he knew deeply annoyed his boss – and tickled Bear's head. 

“So, Harbor is a pretty girl.” He began knowing Finch didn't want to talk about her.

“Indeed she is.” Came his curt response.

“ _Way_ out of your league. On a scale from one to ten that girl is a fifty.”

Finch turned bodily to face him and growled out far more viciously than he'd intended to. “So why does she seem to like me, is that it, Mister Reese?”

John shook his head, he wasn't upset by the bespectacled man's accidental outburst, not in the slightest. 

“No, Finch. I wasn't being negative just … well done. That girl's probably out of most men's league.”

The two men and Bear settled back into work after that, Harold was a private person after all. Although, Reese knew he'd be keeping an eye on that girl from now on, watching her like a hawk.

~X~

John Reese wasn't a man who got much down time and even when he and Finch did end up on a day with no Number he still ended up working. That was why Reese stood out on a rooftop with the hectic street below sipping his coffee and watching Harbor through her apartment window. A few days ago he'd found her in The Library, and while Harold seemed convinced she posed them no threat Reese wanted to make sure. He'd not been able to see her probably for a while but he knew she was moving around behind the frosted window in her bathroom. He'd never put much stock in the stereotype that all women took forever in the bathroom but this girl had made him re-think that.

When she vanished completely Reese set down his coffee cup and searched the windows and then the street through his monocular until he spotted her exiting the building. She was fairly easy to spot in her bold blue dress with it's white turn down collar and sleeves. 

This hooker was far beyond Finch's league but maybe the guy had some secret game Reese didn't know about … and didn't want to know about. She was young, stunning and surviving on her own which was usually a dangerous combination as far as Reese's life experiences had taught him; they were either gold diggers or highly intelligent and capable of getting their own way. If Miss Caldwell was a gold digger then she would hurt Finch when she got enough money, which John wouldn't allow. If she was highly intelligent – which he suspected she was – then she could be anything from a spy to the sweet young girl Harold thought she was. 

He made quick work of getting down to the street and following her at as safe distance. Harbor didn't do anything all that interesting or noteworthy though, just a couple of errands. One of which was so boring he nearly gave up. He was still on her trail when she passed the carousel in the park after she'd gotten coffee, either this girl was on to him or Harold had been right about her.

Eventually he tracked her to the Park Lane Hotel where she disappeared inside for a good hour. John waited though, he was good at waiting, just stood there with more coffee and waited. He knew exactly what an escort would be doing in a hotel at – he glanced to his watch – twelve-forty on a Wednesday; didn't need eyes on the inside for that.

Reese was jolted out of his inner thoughts when Finch's voice sounded in his ear. 

“ _Mister Reese, we have a new Number._ _I_ _f you'd be so kind as to return to The Library._”

“Is it urgent?” Asked Reese in that deep baritone that was practically a trademark. “Maybe Shaw could deal with it.”

“ _You sound as though our work has started to bore you, Mister Reese. It's not like you. Might I remind you people's lives are at stake.”_

Finch was right, he couldn't go letting following a prostitute get in the way of saving people, if he did that then Harbor would be a threat to them.

John raked a hand over his face. “Sorry, Finch, I was running an errand.”

“ _Hmm._ ” Reese could hear Finch typing at his desk and if he wasn't mistaken Bear was snoring quietly in the background. “ _Well, unfortunately it will have to be postponed until Miss Goldman is safe … or prevented from doing something depending on if she's our victim or perpetrator._”

“Alright, I'm on my way.”

John downed the last of his more or less cold coffee then tossed the cup in the trash and started towards The Library, but not before he'd flashed a glare at the hotel's main entrance. The Man in the Suit knew where she'd gone and her morning hadn't been all that amazing or eventful, besides he could track her down later. John had given real thought to sticking a tracker on her but the girl was an escort so she changed her clothes semi-constantly and would have noticed pretty fast. _Shame, would have made my life far easier._

~X~

A few days had gone by with John Reese following Harbor everywhere she went and, other than spending an astounding amount of time going through different second-hand book stores, he'd not found anything strange or suspicious about Harbor Caldwell. Reese had actually started to wonder if Harold was right and this girl wasn't a threat. Reese had started to get a little paranoid as well, he'd gotten so used to there being a threat around every corner that maybe he'd started seeing them were none existed. He could accept he'd been wrong about the hooker, she wasn't a threat to his and Finch's operation, she wasn't dangerous. 

As a sort of mental peace-offering to Harold for following the guy 'she's not my' girlfriend around Reese arrived at The Library with a box of donuts, coffee and Harold's favourite tea, all of which he set down on Finch's desk beside his boss only to spot the tension in Harold's shoulders. Bear had jumped up from his bed to greet his friend but the dog went unnoticed in that moment. 

John paused to look his friend over, Finch didn't seem to have even noticed him, just continued to stare at his computer screens with his fingers unmoving atop the keys. Had he not been able to see Finch's chest as it rose and fell Reese would have assumed him dead and posed. He said nothing, just softly rested a hand on Harold's left shoulder which had the man jolting. At the back of his mind there was a little voice that cursed Reese because that jolt must have hurt Harold's neck; even if the bespectacled man did have a ridiculously high pain threshold there was no reason for Reese to make it worse.

“You okay there, Finch?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

Reese let the silence linger on knowing these pauses were often a part of conversation with the older man; he even got a few gulps of coffee in.

“No, Mister Reese, I don't believe I am.” Harold finally began. “Mister Tao's name has occurred twice now on our list but I'd not expected someone else we knew to appear. I'd hoped-” Finch trails off into a sigh.

“Who, Finch?” Was all Harold got in response.

Reese rounded the table while still sipping at his coffee and looked at the set of screens. He sighed much as Harold had not a minute earlier. They both really should have seen this coming. There on Harold's monitors was a photograph of Harbor Caldwell and Reese's heart dropped for his friend. The man had just started some semblance of moving on from Grace and now here was the girl who'd sparked it on their list of Numbers.

“Don't worry, Finch, we'll protect her.” The taller man promised solemnly.

Harold peered up at him then with a slightly furrowed brow to give Reese that look he did when he'd not quiet expected something.

“You don't believe her to be the perpetrator?” 

Reese shook his head, if this had happened last week the answer would have likely been different but it wasn't last week.

“No, Finch, I don't.”

Knowing Mister Reese was firmly on side Harold quickly set back to work, he pulled his tea a little closer and started to type.

“I'll track her phone. Find out where she is.”

For a moment John felt the need to point out that Harold could have just called the hooker and ask but Finch was already engrossed and frankly tracking her was likely faster. Sure enough before Reese had even swallowed his next sip of coffee Harold had was supplying him with an address. 

“She's on Madison Avenue. Lotte Palace.”

A hotel, why weren't either of them surprised?

“Ooh, fancy. She's done very well for herself since we shut down Fowler's little escort ring.” 

Finch let out that little disgruntled hum of his. “Harbor is remarkably good at her job.” Very quickly the elder man realized just how that had sounded and looked up at Mister Reese bodily. “No, I mean … I didn't-”

Reese took pity on him. “It's okay, Harold. Never thought you'd pay for her.”

Despite having shown he understood Finch still went red all down his cheeks and neck but quickly turned his attention back to keeping Harbor safe.

John downed the rest of his coffee ignoring how it burnt his throat and tossed the cup at the trash, it missed and rattled onto the floor only for Bear to rush after it like a toy. 

“I'll go find your girl.” He said gruffly. “Keep an eye out and follow her.”

Harold nodded as best he could. “I shall remain here and track her phone, start looking into her history as well for anything she could have done to get The Machine to give us her Number. She probably knows the wrong businessman but we can't rule out her past.” He cleared his throat. “I will need you to Bluejack her phone for me so I can search through her contacts.” 

Reese raised an eyebrow clearly surprised that Harold hadn't already done that when they'd first met.

“Giving people privacy now, are you, Finch?”

“I Bluejacked her phone quite some time ago but when it didn't show anything I needed to be aware of I terminated my connection. I was trying to respect my friend's privacy as I try to do with you.” 

John chuckled, _try_ was the best Harold ever managed, something always got him back into your phone or security cameras.

The taller man went off to Madison Avenue in search of Harbor while Harold did … whatever it was Harold did, however, both suspected it would be her Client List that provided the most interesting data.

Meanwhile Harbor had just finished up with a client and had made her way out of the hotel onto the busy street. She hated the short, pink dress she wore even if the tulle lace was beautiful, still, her client always insisted she wore pink as it fed into his Daddy Kink; didn't matter she hated pink. Frankly she wanted a shower more than anything else, she'd not been disgusted by her client, no, just that she always felt stick and clammy after a meeting. 

She took a taxi back to her apartment and got into the elevator quickly, her shower was calling to her. When the elevator dinged she clicked her heels down the long hall towards her apartment while rummaging for her keys in her white clutch bag. However, when she got to her apartment the door was wide open and she came face-to-face with a man in a ski mask. Harbor saw him and he saw her. There was a split second that lingered between them, both amazed to see one another, a gun in his hand, and then Harbor was gone back down the hall as gunshots rang out behind her. Later she'd be impressed at how quickly she could run in four-inch heels. 

Harbor slammed her hand down on the elevator button and waited a few seconds as panic grew before she realized this was stupid and launched towards the stairs. She pushed the door open only to find a tall man in a suit in her path. He grabbed her by the wrist and tried to tug her down the stairs but she wouldn't let him, yanked her arm free and was just about to duck under his arm to the stairs when he spoke and she finally looked at him. Reese!

“Wanna party?”

Harbor didn't speak, just nodded at the taller man's stupid attempt at teasing her and let Reese grab her by the wrist again. This girl trusted Harold Finch so if he'd sent Reese she'd happily go with him. Harbor peered down at the gun in his hand and felt a wave of safety wash over her; Hank would keep her safe.

Fortunately Harbor only lived on the third floor so it wasn't too much of a run down to the ground floor and back out onto the street. Noticing the pink Reese quickly stripped off his suit jacket and slung it around her shoulders so they could easily slip into the crowd of people. He slipped his weapon into the jacket pocket as they walked and took out is phone so he could forcibly pair it to Harbor's own; the whole time he found himself rather impressed about how agile she was in her shoes. In his ear he registered Harold muttering about being into her phone but Reese ignored him in favor of checking on the prostitute. 

“How are you doing? I heard gunshots.” There was genuine concern in his voice which sparked worry in Harold but Reese assured the man that Harbor was fine after he'd looked her over. 

Harbor grabbed him by the hand and gave it a squeeze as they walked, she wasn't trembling but he sensed she needed the contact. John couldn't help but notice an elderly, set in her ways looking woman as they passed her and the 'she's too young for you' expression on her face. It took him a moment to clock it all, Harbor's pink dress, the way she was draped in his suit jacket and holding his hand; it did sort of look like an older man and his trophy girlfriend out for a walk. That was fine with Reese, if people thought that they'd not be thinking someone had just tried to kill her and he was armed. 

“Thank you, Mister Reese. I don't know what is happening or why but thank you.”

“How do you know I'm here to help?” He smiled back as they continued down Madison Avenue towards the safehouse. 

“I asked Harold if he helped people and I believed him when he said yes. So, if you’re here, his best friend is here, then you are going to protect me.”

Reese just brushed off her 'best friend' comment as they walked. He didn't have any other friends and Harold certainly hadn't since Nathan had died so maybe they were best friends; John could think about that later after Harold's girl was nestled away at the safehouse. 


	7. Shivering In The Shower

When John managed to get Harbor to the safehouse he found Harold was already there with Bear curled up at his feet while Finch tapped away on his laptop at the large dining table. As soon as his blue-eyes spotted Harbor he was up on his feet and fretting over her. Reese rolled his eyes;  _and he says he doesn't have feelings f_ _or_ _the girl._

“Are you alright, Harbor, darling?”

The raven-haired beauty nodded and pressed a kiss to his cheek, she was certainly nicer than most Numbers they encountered. 

“I'm fine.” She assured. “Looks like I'm taking a sabbatical though.”

Harbor easily perched on the table and tickled Bear's ears when he came to say hello while Harold sat back down before his laptop. John had to admire the young woman, she wasn't prone to panic, took everything in her stride, he could see why Harold had been so taken with her.

“Finch, from what I could gather the gunman wasn't trained, not government or special forces, not so much as a uses a firing range on the weekends vibe from him.” He said as he came to stand on the opposite side of the table, he nodded his thanks when Harbor handed him back his jacket.

Harold hummed. “Interesting. I can't find anyone who stands out as our potential perpetrators.”

The escort raised a questioning eyebrow when she clocked what was on his laptop screen.

“You're in my cellphone?”

Finch flashed her an apologetic expression. “Forgive us breaching your privacy, but I needed to see this so I could assess who might be trying to kill you.” 

Both men watched as her face softened from irritation to understanding, she nodded to herself before speaking.

“And?”

Finch cleared his throat while John slipped his jacket back on and returned his weapon to its holster.

“I'm unfortunately slowed down since I'm having to go through everyone by hand. You have everyone saved under a nickname or a characteristic which – quite frankly – I'm not surprised about given your line of work. Again forgive us breaching your privacy, but I needed to do this. Friendly Giant, Mister Confidence, The Honest One.” He muttered as he listed some of the nicknames. 

“I can write them all down with their real names if it'll make things quicker. Anything I can do to help you, you know, keep me alive.”

Harold nodded instantly and pushed a legal pad towards her with a pen atop it. “Thank you, Harbor, that would be most helpful.”

She wasted no time in grabbing the pen and jotting her clients down from memory – that wonderfully unique memory.

“I'm afraid most of them aren't all that exciting as day-to-day people, most are businessmen and such.” She told him without taking her polished emeralds from the legal pad.

“I'll confirm all of that.” Finch replied. “I the meantime you'll stay her where you're safe.”

Harbor nodded in agreement. “Em, weird question for the situation and all, but is there a shower.”

Reese raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I smell of daddy issues.”

John smirked at that but still clocked that momentary pang of jealously in Harold's eyes before the elder man got his mask back on.

“Yes, there is.” Said Finch after he'd cleared his throat. “Down the hall on your right, third door down.”

With a quick 'thank you' the twenty-two year old vanished off in search of the bathroom. Reese just continued to smile across the table at his friend.

“You picked one hell of a girl, Finch. You're girl's a strong one.”

“She's not _my_ girl, Mister Reese.” Harold said a little too quickly as he tried to brush off the insinuation and got back to work.

Reese shook his head as he pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, stuck his feet up on the table and everything. Harold huffed, always hated it when John put his dirty feet on the furniture.

“You found anything yet, Finch? Anything to give us an idea what the fuck is happening here?”

Harold stayed hushed a moment while his blue-eyes scanned back and forth as he read, Reese debated asking again but Harold finally piped up.

“Harbor is most likely correct.” He said as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Businessmen who only have arrest records from when they were in college and a couple of speeding tickets here and there.” 

“Well, keep looking, Finch, something has to be going on. Maybe a wife found out she's sleeping with her husband.” 

“Oh, I don't think that would lead to murder, a divorce yes, but murder?”

Reese just shrugged. “Never underestimate how people will react, Finch. I've learnt two things in my life; one, people will often choose murder over the longer, legal option.”

“And the second?” Enquired the genius.

“Always trust scrawled messages, scrawlers don't lie.” A quietude lingered between them for a short time as Reese reloaded his weapon and Finch sifted through the data on Harbor's phone until John finally broke it again. “She is the first one to ask for a shower though. I'd expected her to freak out like most of the others.” 

Harold spoke without taking his blue-eyes from his laptop. “Harbor's mind is distinctive, Mister Reese. Photographic. Her father was a marine, she's also an escort so it's likely Harbor has probably gotten used to the idea that she could be in danger some day.” However, Harold doubted she'd expected danger to come quite like this.

“Okay, so I think I can rule out Anthony O'Neill, his wife served him with divorce papers four months ago. If he wanted Harbor dead he'd have done it before the wife found out about the prostitutes. Same goes for George Cole, he's not been in the country for almost a month and Harbor has him scheduled for the day he returns. Isaac MacFarlane seems unlikely as well, he's a trust fund baby and doesn't seem to care who he's seen with.”

John nodded as he digested the information. “Okay, well it narrows it down a little but. Better than nothing, I guess.”

“Give me some time, I'll find out who.”

Reese stood and pushed the chair back in. He wasn't stupid, he knew Harold's words had been a promise; Harold could deny it all he wanted but John knew he cared about this girl.

“I'm going to head back to Harbor's apartment, see what I can find out. Maybe get us some fresh leads.”

Harold nodded. “Good idea, Mister Reese. “I'll keep at it here and when Harbor gets out of the shower I'll see if she can think of anything to help.” Reese didn't speak, just headed off out the safehouse although he only got a few steps before his boss brought him virbally to a stand still again. “Em, Mister Reese, while you're there – and if you don't find unsavoury characters there – would you please get Harbor some clothes? I don't think such high heels and a pink dress are going to be the best choice should we she be located.” 

John sighed childishly … well, as childishly as a man like John Reese could. “I'm not a valet, Harold.”

Finch gave a little shrug. “Pretend you are?”

The taller man said nothing just left, the sound of the safehouse door closing and locking behind him was Finch's only indication John had ever been there. 

Meanwhile Harbor listened to the door close from the bathroom over the sound of running water. She'd just been standing there under the spray in silence, naked as the day she was born. With a deep breath she slipped down the cold tile and onto the shower floor where she pulled her legs up and cuddled herself as she shook. Harbor's job was assess what men wanted and find the best way to give it to them, to act and pretend. So she'd pretended when Mister Reese had pulled her out of her apartment building, he'd not needed nor wanted some scared little girl stumbling along in her shoes, so she'd played strong young woman. The unafraid whore. It had all been a lie though. Harbor's father had taught her how to protect herself, how to use a gun and yet there she was sitting on the floor of a ridiculously large shower, shaking as warm water rolled over her; didn't exactly look like Sebastian Caldwell's daughter. 

The hot water washed away her make-up to reveal the girl underneath, a young woman all alone in the world. Her vision blurred as water seeped over her face but she hardly blinked, just focused on trying to get her breathing under control. Then it suddenly hit her, full force and had Harbor raking a hand over her face and blinking rapidly. Harbor wasn't alone, if she was alone in the world she'd have most likely been dead not taking a shower. Out in that apartment at his laptop was Harold. The walking mystery. He was there for her and so was his friend, John. They helped people. When she'd said that she'd just been keeping up an act for Reese she'd been right but maybe it didn't need to be an act. They were there for her, they'd fix whatever this craziness was, they'd  _save_ her.

Slowly Harbor finished up in the shower and found herself a fluffy robe hung on the back of the bathroom door once she'd dried herself off. She slipped it on and tied it but left her clothes behind save for her underwear which she slipped on easily.

After a calming breath she made her way back to Harold and sure enough he, nor Bear, appeared to have moved so much as an inch.

“How's it going?” She asked and Harold looked up.

Harbor's hair was still damp and her make up was gone, Harold couldn't help thinking she was even more beautiful without it. Finch cleared his throat and tried not to appear as though he was checking a Number out, he was supposed to be protecting her. Blue-eyes watched as she rounded the large dining table and sat herself on the table to the side of his laptop. Harold could see her legs, so smooth and perfect as they slipped out of the fluffy robe where her legs crossed. 

“I haven't come across anything definitive yet, no.” He told her honestly.

“Why would anyone want me dead? I'm just a whore.”

Finch moved to look at her fully. “Why do you call yourself that? Yes, you work as an escort but you are not ... a _whore_ . There is a difference, maybe not in dictionary definition but in actuality there certainly is.” Harold hadn't meant to sound quite so forceful. 

Harbor smiles at him and rested a hand on his shoulder softly. “Sometimes I forget that, but being a whore isn't a bad thing, Harold.”

“Maybe not but it doesn't seem to have worked out too wonderfully for you as of late.”

The prostitute shrugged. “Fortunately I have my knight in bespoke suit.”

Finch found himself forcing his attention back to the subject at hand before he got down the rabbit hole of why Harbor smiled at him so brightly.

“Are there any people – they don't have to be clients – that you can think of who could be responsible for trying to kill you?” 

“You and John but I doubt it was you in that mask, I know you when I see you.” She tried to think of someone she really did, wanted to help him as best she could but she made a point of staying out of her clients' personal lives and professions; she wasn't there for that. “I'm sorry, I don't know. I don't really have any friends so they're not going to try and kill me and I though all my clients liked me until a few hours ago.” 

Harbor watched as Harold typed and searched through her list over and over again looking for  _anything_ to answer their questions but it didn't happen. Finch couldn't find anyone who'd want her dead. No one seemed like a loose cannon or had a quick to violence spouse.

“I make sure to vet my clients before I accept seeing them, I have done since I started working for myself. There are a few left over from when I worked at The Coronet Hotel for Fowler's ring but most I found for myself. I tell you now it's _not_ Richard Van Dune, other than you he's the sweetest man I've ever met.”

“I already ruled your Friendly Giant out, he's been in Tewksbury all day visiting his sister and her family.”

Harbor breathed out a sigh of relief at that, Richard was such a kind man, he'd not be capable of doing something like this.

The safehouse door opened and closed loudly then and Reese returned to the room where he dumped a large, stuffed bag on the table. 

“That was remarkably fast, Mister Reese.” Said Harold with a little surprise.

“I work quickly.” The tall man responded gruffly, clearly he'd not been all that happy to go through the content of Harbor's closet.

“Are these my clothes?” Harbor asked as she fully unzipped the bag with mild irritation.

“You're welcome. Go get dressed.”

The raven-hair beauty didn't say a word, just hopped down from the table – careful to avoid Bear who still lay spread out on the floor – and grabbed the bag before she returned to the bathroom. Once alone again Harold and Reese turned their attention back to one another and their work.

“Did you find anything?”

John shook his head with a sigh. “Nah. The place has been turned over but it doesn't look like anything is actually gone. It's strange, Finch, like these people don't really know what they're doing. It all seemed panicked.”

Harold shrugged slightly. “Well, not every threat comes from someone as heavily trained as yourself, Mister Reese.”

Reese didn't seem convinced as he raked a hand through his salt and pepper locks. “Hmm, something about this is off, Finch”

John slumped down into the same chair as before and smiled when Bear hopped up in search of snuggles and attention that he quickly got. They noticed Harbor then and two sets of eyes watched as she went to sit on a chair beside Harold. She'd obviously not got any make up on any longer but even Reese had to admire her enchanting features; a real belle. Big eyes, full lips, Finch had outdone himself. Reese had just shoved an oversized t-shirt with something in German written out on it and a pair of black wash jeans. 

“Harold Finch.” She said to test out the name. “Hank Finch. I like it better than Dove.” Harbor chuckled. “You like bird names, don't you.”

The Man in the Suit let out a deep hum of agreement then. “Been wondering about that myself.”

Reese's comment ignored, Finch's attention was too focused on Harbor.

“You prefer Finch?”

The elder man nodded. “I do, yes.”

“Then Hank Finch it is.”

“Not to kill the mood,” began Reese sensing they were headed down a tangent, “but someone is trying to kill you and we should probably focus on that.” 

Harbor sighed and looked off at the ground for a while. Harold knew that look, it was the far off expression she got when raking through her photograph memory for something – sort of like a Rolodex – though he suspected she was going through the list of everyone she'd ever slept with. The look of irritation sealed it, she'd got no idea who'd do this.

“I don't know who or why. I'm an escort, I have one job and I don't – oh my god!”

Realization dawned on Harbor and she felt back in her chair, slumped, leaving Finch and John to just stare at her wide eyes with matching questioning expressions. They gave her a moment before Reese cleared his throat.

“Going to tell us?” He demanded a little more roughly than intended wich got him a sharp glare from Harold.

“Please explain, Harbor.”

She didn't look at them, just stared off as if watching something in her mind rather than the real world.

“Craig Weatherly. He's down as Tech Boy on my phone. He works for some tech firm, he's not overly high up and I don't think he's all that smart to be honest. Sometimes he'll send his assistant on these really long lunches, he does it so he can see me. Obviously his assistant wasn't there so I just walk right into his office. He was using his laptop.” 

“And you saw the image.” Harold finished for her only to get a nod.

“Yes, only for a split second but I saw it. Two days ago I saw him again, we were laughing and joking about something and I told him about my memory thing. That I can't forget. See it once, remember it forever. He got quiet after that and I couldn't get him out of it no matter what I tried, it was weird. He's usually really easy to bolster.”

John already didn't like this Weatherly guy, frankly he sounded like a total dick.

“What did you see?” Harold pushed softly.

“Some sort of code that I didn't understand, I'm not even sure it's important. It was just a black background and endless lines of code. I thought it was for his work.”

Quickly Harold shoved the legal pad and pen back towards her.

Reese raised an eyebrow. “You expect her to remember a million random letters and backslash?”

“I told you, Mister Reese, Harbor's mind is photographic.”

Harbor took the pen quickly and started to carefully copy it all down from memory; monumentally impressive.

“Will you be able to figure out what the code is?” Reese shook his head like he was being an idiot. “Stupid question, of course you will.”

“Once Harbor has finished writing it out I'll be able to examine it and should be able to decipher what it was intend to do. It must be very important if he's willing to try and kill Harbor just for seeing a fraction of it.” 

Seemingly satisfied with Finch's answer Reese turned to face Harbor as her hand jotted down code quickly.

“How would Weatherly know where you live?”

She shrugged but didn't look up from her task. “I haven't got a clue, maybe he followed me.”

John watched as her writing grew faster and faster until, eventually, it was all down and she pushed it towards Harold like a child showing a teacher. He took up the legal pad and started to read, his blue orbs flicked back and forth behind his glasses while the others waited.

“Oh dear.” Well that didn't bode well. “I can't be sure until I run it through a few programs to check, but I'd say that this is part of a virus that can install a back door onto government servers remotely. If it is then it's certainly something one would kill to keep hidden.” 

Reese leant forwards. “I want to go check out this Weatherly guy. Now.”

Harold kit a few keys as he searched for Craig Weatherly.

“Craig Augustus Weatherly, forty-three years old, never been married and no kids. Lives in Yorkville.”

“Yeah, yeah, text me his address, I'm going to have a little look around.”

“Very well.” A few more key hits. “I have access to the security cameras on the roof of the building across from his office, he's still in there.”

Reese was gone then and Harold found himself alone with a now fully dressed Harbor Caldwell.

She watched quietly as he worked on the code Harbor had supplied him with, her head tilted to the side slightly as she smiled at the elder man. After a while he noticed her eyes on him.

“What?” He enquired finding her soft smile infectious.

“You're cute when you work.”

He seemed a little taken aback. “I've never been called 'cute' before.”

“Well, now you have.”

She forced her way into his lap then, straddled his suit clad thighs and loosely wrapped her arms around his neck. Harbor wasn't trying to seduce him, just wanted to be close. 

“Now probably isn't the best time, Harbor, darling.” He told her, the entire time his hands rested on her hips and his eyes raked over her lips.

“I know, I'm not making a move.”

Harbor kissed him then, light and chaste, before she cuddled into his chest. She stayed there like that for a long time, didn't speak just cuddled him happily. Harold could have gone back to work if he'd wanted and he did for a while, but eventually his arms wrapped around her and he held Harbor close sensing she needed comfort.

“I like it when you hold me.” She said against his neck. “Makes me feel safe.”

Finch was surprised at that and raised an incredulous eyebrow behind his glasses. “If you get that just from me we should ask Mister Reese to give you a hug.” He teased. 

Harbor shook her head, her raven-hair was still a bit wet. “No, I'd prefer you. Can you still work around me okay?”

“Of course, darling.” He already had been doing. 

Before Finch even knew what he'd done he'd pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. The act had hurt his neck a little with the strain but the pain hardly bothered him. Instead of thinking too much about said forehead kiss Harold returned to his work while the twenty-two year old continued to find comfort in his touch. After a time her hands slipped from around his neck and instead to clutch the lapels of his gray waistcoat; to an outsider it would look like a father with a young child who'd nodded off. He could smell her, so sweet and perfect and freshly clean. What him mentally purring though was the shampoo she smelt of, it was his, he'd been known to shower at the safehouse sometimes so the only toiletries there were Harold's own; she'd even been in his robe earlier. He couldn't let himself get distracted by her though, he had things to do. 

Harbor had actually fallen asleep when suddenly she heard the elder man call out 'eureka' loudly, it hadn't been a shout but it had certainly sounded loud with her being so close. Harbor's head jolted up.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep.”

Finch didn't seem all that concerned. “No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.” Harbor shifted to sit in his lap rather than straddle him, she'd started to cease up. “I figured out where this came from, there's always a signature, but the way this was written was a bit unusual. I think it's Chinese. Mister Weatherly is doing something very, very illegal.” 

“What is it?” She enquired as her head turned to face the screen of his laptop.

“The company Weatherly works for is Athantex and they have a contract to produce servers for military use. If he works for the Chinese then he would be in a fantastic position to put this virus on the servers, it could then lay dormant until the servers had been installed after which the Chinese could remotely access it and infect the other servers in the farm.” 

“I don't really understand all that but it sounds bad.”

Harold flashed her an expression that said 'no shit'. “ _Very_ bad, Harbor. If he's working for the Chinese then he'll be permanently on thin ice and if you've seen this then you could be the thing that gets him locked up for a _really_ long time.”

“But why would he do this? I always thought he was an asshole but I honestly didn't think Craig was smart enough for something like this.”

“I did some more digging while you were asleep and it turns out he has a rather large gambling debt. It's possible that a Chinese agent learnt about this and his position at Athantex and used it to their advantage, it's what I would do in their position.” 

"Huge ass gambling debt and yet he still paid for me?" 

Harold didn't appear overly surprised. "Not to attack my own gender but ... he is a man."

She seemed satisfied with that answer. 

“Does your friend know?” She asked in that lyrical voice of hers. 

“Not yet, I was just about to contact him when I accidentally woke you.” She watched as he opened a line to Reese and started to fill him in. “Mister Reese, I think I've figured out how all of this fits together. Weatherly is in bed with the Chinese.”

“ _Fucking perfect._ ” Came Reese's sighed reply through the earpiece.

“I don't think the Chinese are aware of the fact Harbor has seen a fragment of the code, that would explain why you believed this murder attempt to be so amateur.” 

“ _Oh, I don't think he'll be a problem. You looked at that camera you have on Weatherly's office recently?”_

“Em, no, I've been working on the code.”

Harold quickly brought up the security camera footage to find Reese waving at the camera from inside Craig Weathery's office. 

“Mister Reese, what did you do?”

“ _Well I found nothing at his place so I came here for a look around – really easy to get in here by the way, you'd be proud – and it looks like he's sent his assistant of for the day so I couldn't resist just walking on in._ _Fucking idiot just had a Glock and a ski mask sat on his coffee table._ ”

Harold rolled his eyes. “And where, pray tell, is Mister Weatherly now?”

“ _He came back from his lunch break so I had to knock him out. He's on the floor behind the desk_.” Replied John.

Sure enough, when Harold peered closer at the camera footage he could see feet sticking out from the other side of the desk.

“ _Asshole spat on me. Can you believe that?!”_

“I'll have all our findings as well as a copy of the computer virus sent to Detective Carter, if Mister Weatherly is unconscious he's not going anywhere and she'll be able to handle things from here. Thank you, Mister Reese.”

“Is that it? Asked Harbor once Finch had closed his line to John. “Am I safe now? A couple hours and I'm all good to go home?”

He smiled. “I'm sorry if you feel deprived of action, our perpetrators are usually more accomplished, then again maybe it's a good thing he isn't. Normally Mister Reese ends up shooting someone despite me not being fond of that. I don't want you going back to your apartment though, Mister Weatherly might have been trying to fix his mistake quietly but if the Chinese have gotten wind of your involvement you could still be in danger.” 

Harbor peered up at him with polished emeralds. “Then where am I supposed to go?”

That was a good question. “I'll make a reservation for you at a hotel.”

Probably the one he owned where Harold had done a deep background check on every member of staff and Miss Brozi ran a tight ship. He flashed a smile when she stretched up and kissed his cheek. 

“Thank you, Hank.”

Finch shrugged it off. “It's what we do.”

Bear barked then clearly feeling left out of the conversation and Harbor chuckled.

“Yes, thank you too, Teddy Bear.”

 _She really just can't stop giving things nicknames, can she_ , muttered Harold's mind quietly.

It didn't take long for Harold to get Harbor a room at The Cornet Hotel and as soon as he'd packed away his things and Harbor had grabbed the bag that Reese had brought her, they headed over to the hotel. Harold made sure to get her situated quickly, Harbor wasn't in hiding but he didn't want her lingering around on the street too long.

Finch did a quick check for bugs but that was more for Harold's paranoia than Harbor's protection. When he was finished he went to stand before her and tossed his things back into his bag; he'd not found anything. 

Those green-eyes sparkled. Harbor grabbed him by the lapels and rose up on her tip-toes to kiss his thin lips, deep and passionate. A kiss that came with the promise of realness, a primal desire that ignited every time Harbor's lips met Harold's. Her scent flooded his senses as their foreheads touched between kisses and Finch couldn't fight the thoughts that shot through his damaged body. He could feel her smiling into the kiss. Automatically his arms snaked around her slender waist as if they belonged there. 

“My big brave hero needs a reward, I think.”

Harold tried to assure her that there wasn't any need, he and Reese didn't help her to gain favors, Harold didn't want her feeling obligated. He even went so far as to pusher her gently away but it didn't work, his heart wasn't really in it. The only hint of his reluctance as she softly pushed him to sit on the bed was a tiny voice in the back of his head, however, that voice hadn't won once yet and this time didn't look good either.

“Hank, shut up. We've had this conversation and I'm not on the clock when I'm with you.”

When her nimble fingers clicked open his belt Harold made a decision, a decision to shut off his brain and just let it happen. He wanted it and so did Harbor. Every time they'd been together he'd over-thought it rather than just shutting off his brain. So he did, for once Harold would shut of his paranoia, his constant worry about everything and push the weight off his shoulders for a while, and just be with this goddess of a woman. 

It turned out to be the best decision of his life. He'd not been so happy and relaxed since he was a child. His calloused fingers across her hot skin, the stunning porcelain punctuated by little bruises and nips that he trailed down her neck. Her moans and mews, so perfect. 

Afterwards was much like the second time, he lay there on his back with Harbor at his side who had her head on his chest and an arm thrown over him. Harold hadn't been able to help looping an arm around her side to keep her close.

“Will you stay?” She asked softly.

So many questions and thoughts flooded into his mind; why? I have to get back to the Library. Wouldn't you be happier snuggled up with this big bed to yourself? To name a few. None of those left his brain though.

“Alright.” He agreed instead.

Yes, he shouldn't stay but Finch loved just lying quietly with Harbor. He didn't want to get up and go back to the trials and tribulations of his day-to-day life. So he didn't. 

Didn't take long for his mind to fill with thoughts of Grace, he'd left her, he'd _hurt_ her and … no, not time to think of that. Finch turned his attention back down to Harbor and smiled. He'd done what he had to protect Grace and he'd done what he'd had to in order to protect Harbor. Maybe Reese had been right and it didn't need to end the same way. Harold liked this young woman, and for once he was going to let himself enjoy it. What man in his right mind would ever turn down spending the night with such a beautiful and intelligent woman as Harbor Caldwell? Finch just tried to ignore that many probably wouldn't think him in his right mind. 


	8. The Other Woman

The next morning Harbor had found herself whisked across town by a still pretty sleepy looking Harold to an apartment block of high-end lofts. She suspiciously followed him up to the fifth floor in the elevator and down the hall to the very end, it reminded her of her own apartment. She'd expected him to sit her in another of his safehouses for a few days just to make sure no angry Chinese agents came after her but this place was just plain stunning. When they got to the large grey door Harold produced a key and let them inside. 

He stepped aside for Harbor to enter first like the perfect gentleman he was and she flashed him a soft smile as she walked passed him. Green orbs flicked around the loft apartment with her mouth half hung open. The place was large but mostly empty which made the apartment seem vast if nothing else. The exposed brickwork provided a modern elegance and Harbor adored the metal finishes dotted about the place. It didn't really look lived in what with being half empty but Harold seemed to enjoy leaving questions and mysteries in his wake. 

“Not your place I take it?”

Harold shook his head softly. “No, it isn't.”

Only Finch knew where he lived and that was how it would stay.

“Didn't think so, doesn't seem like your taste.” She finally directed her eyes on the elder man. “So, why are we here? This another safehouse?” 

Finch cleared his throat though suddenly seemed awkward, as if he were apologetic, it got Harbor to tilt her head in a mix of confusion and concern.

“Harbor,” he began as he limped towards her, “I'm sorry, but after everything that has happened and us not having any way to tell if the Chinese are aware you saw their code you can't go back to your apartment. We can't risk you getting harmed.” _I can't risk you getting hurt._ “By now they'll be aware that Mister Weatherly has been discovered and apprehended which means they'll be burning their operation. If they know about you then they'll – I don't want you to get hurt. They likely _don't_ know but I'm a paranoid man and I like to be cautious.” 

He watched the young woman as her eyes once again darted about the place, a large living area with a bedroom on the back left and a reasonably sized kitchen on the middle left as one entered the apartment.

“Maybe it would be a good idea to lay low for a while, and this place is beautiful.” She sighed then. “Just one problem, this place is bloody huge, I can't afford this. Hank, you've been in my little apartment, and while I get paid fairly well, this is Manhattan and it's not like I get four-thousand dollars a night.” 

Harold smirked as he waved her off. “None of that matters, I assure you, Harbor. The place is fully paid for already.”

With that the suit clad man placed the key in her soft hand and flashed her an encouraging smile while she just stared at him blankly for a few moments.

“You … you bought me an apartment?”

How had he ever thought all Harbor had wanted was money? She truly didn't like taking things from people unless she'd earned it and Harold admired her for that. Then again, if she'd been alone since her father had died she'd probably learnt the hard way not to just accept things from strange men because they'd flashed you a smile and offered kind words.

“Yes.” He finally told her. “I actually did the same for Mister Reese a short time ago. Speaking of Mister Reese, he packed your things into boxes – though he isn't too happy about it – with the aid of a friend of ours, Detective Fusco.”

Harbor raised a shaped eyebrow quickly. “My things?”

Finch gestured loosely towards the kitchen and when Harbor moved a few steps back she found a stack of cardboard boxes waiting for her; all her life in a stack of boxes.

His brow furrowed deeply a few seconds later when she tried to give him back the little key.

“Hank, this place is beautiful, it really is, I love it, but I can't accept this. Dinner is one thing but a whole apartment? If you think it's safer I move then I will but you don't have spend all your money on me. You saved my life, that's more than enough.” 

He refused the key, even John hadn't put up such a fight when he'd gotten an apartment. Then again, Reese knew Harold had an almost endless supply of money, he knew Harold wouldn't take no for an answer, Reese knew he'd not taken advantage of Finch. Harbor knew none of that.

“You really needn't worry, Harbor.” He let out a little sigh, a blip. “I'm really quite wealthy and would rather you be safe. I expect nothing in exchange for the apartment and would be most grateful if you'd accept it.”

He could see she wanted to say no, he wondered how this had gotten so ingrained in her. Finch stood there patiently as he waited for her to go through some kind of mental debate, but eventuality, after more time than he'd expected she finally relaxed and he knew his side of the internal debate had won. 

Harbor nodded slightly, more to herself at first and then him. Damn, he loved those green-eyes of hers.

“You're a good man, aren't you.”

It wasn't a question and earned a true smile from the elder man.

“I try.”

She kissed his cheek then and the scent of her flooded his senses. This girl truly wasn't like any woman he'd ever met before, not even Grace. 

“Thank you, Hank, this place is really stunning and it's more than anyone has ever done for me before.”

He felt a little awkward but Finch couldn't shed the feeling of happiness and pleasure that she'd accepted the apartment. Finch couldn't deny himself returning her kiss just so he could breathe her in again. 

“I should let you get settled in so I'll leave you to it, Harbor, Darling.” He turned to leave but paused a moment. “I thought you could put your poster above the fire, it's just about the right size.”

Then he was gone and Harbor stood alone in a vast apartment she never could have hoped to afford had it not been for Hank Finch. The living area was incredibly large and would have happily fit a gargantuan sofa and coffee table with ease; she'd always wanted something bigger than her little loveseat.  _Looks like I'm finally getting that couch the size of a bed I've been craving._ She grinned when her green-eyes finally settled upon a set of bookshelves, two of them between the big windows on the far wall opposite the kitchen, oh she was going to have fun filling those up with her books.

With a deep and calming breath Harbor slipped off her shoes and set them neatly by the bedroom door at the back of her new apartment, then went to sift through the boxes that John and Detective Fusco – _whoever he is –_ had left for her. All her clothes, books, make up and everything else she owned was in those cardboard boxes. At first she'd been annoyed, two men – one of whom she'd never met or heard of – had gone through even her most private things and stored them away, in the end she'd not stayed mad long, Harbor couldn't go back to her apartment so someone had to pack her things.

Half of the boxes had been packed with a sort of 'shove it all in without breaking it' mentality while the others were all precise and used up ever single inch of space without anything being even remotely precarious; wasn't hard for Harbor to guess who'd packed witch boxes. 

Ever so carefully the twenty-two year old unpacked and actually found herself having fun after an hour or so. She finally had enough room for her books without them having to stay stacked up on the floor or in a box under her bed. Once all the tomes were safely on the shelves Harbor found herself wondering if Harold had walls of books stashed away somewhere, not like at that library of his but books that had been repeatedly read and loved, books he woke up to and saw as he sipped his morning tea. Maybe this he'd used his own home as inspiration for this new home of Harbor's or maybe not; either way it made her smile.

When she'd gotten around to putting her clothes away she'd stopped dead to just _stare_ at the closet, it was far larger than she'd imagined – almost half the size of her bathroom – but then again, she could have had fifty people in her living area and no one would have brushed elbows. _Okay, that might be an exaggeration,_ muttered her mind. Harbor had always had to play 'Tetris' to get her clothes into her closet but by the time her things were away she still had half a closet to play with; and didn't that make her smile. 

Things continued to find themselves stored away, each new item placed made her feel more and more as though she belonged, as though everything would be alright and that she could carry on with her life. She'd not particularly liked her old apartment but once her Richard Kruspe poster had gone up Harbor certainly liked her new one. Yes, the old one had served her purposes and hadn't been a bad apartment – unless one counted the slightly racist, very judgemental, old lady across the hall. That woman had taken to calling Harbor a slut before she'd even started to suspect she worked as a prostitute. The Super at her old place had always glared at her as though she were a piece of meat though, and yes, Harbor had been fully aware she didn't help herself exactly what with all her short skirts and dresses. This new place though, to Harbor it was like a palace and she truly adored it. At the back of her mind Harbor still felt a little off about accepting the key but Harold hadn't been taking 'no' as an answer and the escort had to live somewhere.

Long ago when she'd first started working for Fowler at The Coronet Hotel, a Councilman had tried to get her to move into an apartment so he could keep her as his own personal whore but she'd refused. Harbor was a whore, yes, but she didn't want a man thinking he owned her, there was a difference … or at least to Harbor there was. Harold hadn't once thought he owned her or that she was a possession. It was part of the reason she liked the computer genius, why she trusted him. 

~X~

Young Miss Caldwell was hurrying through the Park when she spotted an elder redhead sat sketching the Alice In Wonderland statue, it was so detailed and so perfect that the green-eyed woman found herself at a standstill to just stare at the drawing. It was beautiful, so innocent and yet still so comprehensive.

“That's amazing.” Harbor said before she'd even realized she'd spoken and the elder woman spun around to face her with a smile.

“Thank you! Sometimes I like to just relax and do something simple.”

Harbor chuckled as she made her way closer to the seated redhead. “ _That's_ simple? I can't even draw stick men and I don't really understand art.”

“Oh, I'm sure that's not true. People seem to think you have to just be able to draw but you can always learn.” The woman told her softly. “Art doesn't need an explanation to go along with it. You just know.

“Personally I think it's a bit of both, some might be able to draw but if they haven't got that natural gift then it's never going to be quite right. I mean look at Hitler.” _Yeah, that's right just randomly start talking about the one man who's universally hated._ “Sorry, I-”

“No, no,” she waved her hand up at Harbor as if brushing away the tension. “I understand exactly what you were talking about.”

“Good, I realize that sounded like it was going to go down a different avenue. Really though, that is so beautiful. I love the fur on the White Rabbit.”

“Well, than you very much. Most people ignore me while I'm drawing so it's really nice to have someone take the time to say they like it. Sorry, I'm Grace by the way.”

“I'm Harbor. My dad would read the Wonderland books to me all the time when I was a kid. ” Said Harbor as she looked around the busy park.

The redhead's brow furrowed as if confused. “Are you waiting for someone? I didn't mean to keep you.”

Harbor shook her head as she turned her attention back to the artist. “Yeah, I'm supposed to meet someone for lunch, he said he'd wait for me here.”

The elder woman smiled softly. “Is this someone a boyfriend?” A jovial tease lingered in her voice. “Pretty, young girl all dressed up should be being treated by her boyfriend.” 

That got the escort to laugh. “Dressing like this is second nature.”

That puzzled Grace but she quickly shrugged it off and dismissed it. However, when she noticed the pause on Harbor's face the confusion turned to mild concern, she set down her charcoal and pencil so she could turn properly to face the raven-haired beauty.

“Are you alright, Sweetheart?” She asked sounding suddenly motherly.

“I don't think he's my boyfriend, I don't think he ever will.”

Harold was a mystery wrapped up in a riddle and topped with an enigma bow. He didn't have people he was attached to save for John and that was how Harold liked it. Better for them if he wasn't connected to them, yeah, she'd noticed that way of thinking. Harbor didn't blame him for any of that but this woman didn't know that, didn't know what sort of man Harold Finch really was. Her head snapped up when the artist spoke again. 

“Well why not? I've known you all of two minutes and can already tell you're a nice girl. Bet you're a total catch.”

Oh, now she thought Harold wasn't doing right by her. _Logical assumption, I guess._

“He's em, he's a fair bit older than I am and he's kind of odd.” Harbor couldn't help but smile as she thought of Hank and some of the strange, paranoid things he did. “I don't care though, I like it, but he's not really the kind for relationships.” She sighed, it was nice to talk to someone for a change even if they didn't know anything about Harold. “Personally I think he's lonely and he's so kind to me. He makes me happy.” 

“Then you just have to make sure he realizes how lucky he is to have you.” The elder woman's eyes grew sorrowful. “You have to grab it while you can.”

“Maybe you're right.” She says to sound positive but Harbor seriously doubted Harold would _ever_ settle down let alone with her.

Harbor's cellphone rang then and the noise actually startled her, when she took her phone out of her bag the ID just read 'unknown' which meant it could have only been Hank.

“ _What are you doing?_ ” Harold asked as soon as she answered in a tone that seemed more alarmed than anything else.

Harbor's brow furrowed ever so slightly. “Waiting for you.”

“ _A hundred and two meters south of your current location, I shall meet you there._ ” With that Hank hung up and Harbor stuffed her cellphone back into her bag as she tried to keep the internal confusion off her face.

“Sorry, that was him, I need to go.”

“I hope you have fun. What's his name?”

The prostitute smiled, this having a friendly conversation thing was quite nice.

“Harold, but I call him Hank.”

She watched as Grace's face fell then and when she spoke again her voice shook with aged sorrow.

“... _Harold_?”

Harbor noticed the look but had no idea what had caused it.

“Don't tell me yours is named Harold as well.”

The artist nodded and Harbor suddenly wondered if she'd made a terrible mistake and had somehow ruined this woman's day of drawing statues. Harbor must have because Grace started to pack away her things.

“Em, yeah. Harold.”

“Huh, small world. The name must be making a come back. It was nice to meet you, Grace. Bye.”

Harbor didn't know why or how she'd upset Grace but she certainly didn't want to upset her further and also needed to meet Harold to find out what the fuck he was playing at. Her heels click-clacked on the hard ground as she headed off towards Hank. 

It didn't take long for her to locate the elder man stood by a lamppost tapping away on his phone. The second he spotted her he stuffed his phone away and grabbed her by the shoulders with a tight grip that almost hurt. 

“Why were you talking to Grace? How do you know her?”

Harbor just stared at him with a blank expression as her eyes flicked down to either of his hands on her.

“I don't know her, I just admired her drawing and we started talking. I've never met her before.” She told him quickly, she'd never seen … whatever this new mood was from him before.

It took a second but did finally click, he'd used her name and it was _very_ clear that Hank didn't want her anywhere near Grace. Harbor's eyes went wide.

“Hang on, are you dating her? Oh for God's sake, I'm an idiot.”

Finch's hands dropped back to his side in sudden alarm and he took a step back as he realized he'd all but attacked her.

“No, no, I'm not dating her. I'm...” He trailed off with a sigh for a moment. “We were together once but not anymore, not for a long time now.”

Each word made the sentence grow all he more confusing. 

“And you're hiding from her? What did you do, sleep with her sister?”

Harold went rigid, more so than usual. “... I made her think I was dead. I had to, I-”

Harbor cut him off. When Harold's blue-eyes met Harold's again her face had softened and a layer of worry had settled on her stunning features.

“No. You don't want me to know, not yet, and I'm not going to make you spill your guts in the Park. If you still want to tell me tomorrow or next week or next month then alright, but for now can we go to lunch and forget about this?”

Harbor never ceased to amaze the bespectacled man. Every time he thought he'd finally figured her out Harold learnt he'd just unwrapped another layer; Harbor remained a mystery to him.

“Why do you just take my word for things?” He asked softly. “You never really push for answers, even Reese does that.”

Harbor shrugged. “I'm a good judge of character, remember? You're a good man and I trust you.” She paused then to glance back the way she'd come, Grace could still be seen very faintly as she finished packing away her things. “And you have good taste in women.”

That actually made Finch laugh and got much of his self-made tension to drain away. Harbor was right, he didn't want to tell her, didn't want her to know how he'd faked his death and torn Grace's heart out, and Harbor had no intention of making him for which he was monumentally grateful.

After a calming breath he looped their arms together and they headed off together up to a bistro on E 76th. A short walk that soon had Harbor back to her usual self.

All through their lunch Harold had to keep pushing Grace from his memory. He'd had this mental conversation with himself a dozen or more time and frankly it had grown tiresome. He couldn't change what he'd done to Grace even if he wanted to, it had been too dangerous for her and if she _ever_ saw him again Grace would kill him for real. Harold hated it, the feeling that he'd betrayed Grace all over again. Like his relationship or whatever it was he had with Harbor was him cheating on Grace. Harold didn't think of Grace as his ex when she came to mind, no he still thought of her firmly as his fiancée. Harold sighed. _And it's not fair on either of them._ Not Grace, not Harbor and not even on himself.

Somehow Finch managed to keep up conversation as they ate but afterwards when they left and slowly made their way down the street towards his car so he could take Harbor home he felt her squeeze his hand. Harold's mind snapped back to him and the hubbub around them properly for the first time in hours. She pulled him to a stop in the busy street which forced people to go around them but the pair went mostly ignored. He tensed when she wrapped him in a hug, he felt her generous chest press against him. Harold couldn't be anything less than rigid because of his injuries so to anyone else he probably looked as if he didn't want the hug, even though he very much did, Harold always wanted her touch. It took him a moment but he eventually managed to get his body to react and wrapped his arms around her slender waist.

Harold breathed her in, that rich and magical scent that flooded his senses and soothed his soul. Coconut in her hair and strawberry from somewhere else, that ever so light perfume she only wore when with him. She stood just as tall as him in her heels, perfect for him to gaze on those dazzling emeralds. Harold still didn't know how the hell she managed to walk in those things but she seemed quite fond of them and he wasn't going to complain.

“It's okay, Hank.”

She spoke so softly that it filled Harold with confusion and something horrid deep inside his chest.

“What is?”

“For whatever this is to end.” Harold's face fell. “You want to know what I've figured out about you? You've been hopping through names so long you don't know which one is really you any longer.” Harbor told him in that lyrical voice of hers but it was saddened. “You said you preferred Finch so maybe that's the real you now but-” Harbor trailed off a moment; the rush of everyone's daily routine continued around them, taxi's honked their horns and people yelled in the distance. “Harold, I think you don't know how to not be alone, that you've forgotten, and Reese is the only exception. He's your best friend. I don't know what's going on between us, if it's something or just a  _thing_ that happens. Either way it clearly weighs far more heavily on you than it does on me, and I don't like seeing that. The constant second guessing and occasional self-hatred in your eyes. You're life is easier when it's just you, Reese and Bear … so that's how it's going to stay.” 

Slowly she rocked upwards on her heels and pressed a kiss to Harold's lips. So soft, so gentle, too short. Her hands rested on his lapels, her cleavage against his chest, her warmth drifted through his suit into his skin. Then she was gone, out of his personal space and he hated it.

“Go save someone for me, Hank.”

Then she was gone, faded into the mass of people leaving Harold stood in the middle of the street alone and just staring at nothing in particular. Alone. When he snapped out of it a few seconds Harbor wasn't anywhere to be seen. It took him a several moments of people having to walk around him for Harold to realize what had just happened. She'd seen how he's been around Grace, noticed the way he thought about her just like she noticed everything else so easily. He'd been entirely absent through lunch, a dead body would have noticed. Had seen him interact with Reese and Bear as well, knew that they were the only people and dog Harold really felt comfortable around. 

Harbor cared about him enough to leave and make his life easier. This girl was only twenty-two and yet there she went being the adult.

A pay phone started to chime then, no one paid it any notice but Harold did, always knew what it meant. He stared at it for a couple of seconds then sighed. His thoughts of Harbor would have to stop since duty called. With one last disheartening sigh he limped over to the pay phone and lifted the receiver off the hook.


	9. The Man Crying In My Arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set directly after the end of S03E09 - The Crossing and through into episodes S03E11 - Lethe and S03E12 - Aletheia

Harbor had finished up in Cobble Hill shortly after ten o'clock, night had fallen and clouds had settled in hiding the stars more than the light pollution already did. She'd not wasted a single second, just gone straight home to her apartment with only a short stop off for an unreasonable amount of Chinese food. Harbor had three main vices in her life; books and heels were the other two.

The dark-haired escort didn't usually see clients after eight o'clock if she could help it but Timothy Myers was utterly adorable. She'd been seeing him since Fowler had picked her up and set her to work as one of his prostitutes at the Coronet Hotel years earlier. Timothy didn't play himself off as something he wasn't, didn't splash his cash or show off, he was simply a down to earth, _good_ person; as a result he wasn't like anyone else on her phone – except for Richard Van Dune – and it had earned him the nickname 'The Honest One'.

By the time the clock threatened to strike eleven Harbor had locked herself away inside her apartment and kicked off her heels. It still felt strange to call the massive place _her_ apartment since Finch owned it and it was twice the size of any place she'd been able to afford before. Still, she tried not to think about it or Harold 'Hank' Finch. 

Harbor hadn't seen or heard from the elder man since almost a week before when she'd left him stood on the sidewalk after their lunch  together. She'd not called him, it wasn't like she'd ever had his number. Her lungs breathed out a deep sigh, she didn't want to think about him … it  _hurt_ and would only upset her again. 

The bag of take-out found itself dumped on the kitchen island while she went to get changed into her pyjamas – her usual top and shorts combo though this time her gothic ones with 'Lazy Bones' on the top and cute little skulls on the white shorts. As soon as her make up was off and she'd combed her hair Harbor felt relaxed and like the world had faded away for a while.

Her ass had just hit the couch in front of the television when a series of rapid thumps sounded at her door, loud and violent. The hour was late, gone eleven, and no one knew who she was or that she was there. Harbor had hardly seen her neighbor since she'd moved in and there wasn't any reason for _anyone_ to annoy her two seconds before she started cramming squid into her mouth like a glutton. 

With caution she carefully set her bowl and chopsticks down then padded over on bare feet to the door where she hesitantly peeked through the peep-hole. Instantly she relaxed seeing Harold before worry took over again; he looked horrified. Quickly she yanked open her door to let him in. Finch shook violently and didn't seem capable of fixing his eyes on any one thing for more than a split second; it didn't take a genius to work out the man was in shock … and had been crying. 

Harold didn't say a single word, just fell into Harbor's arms as tears and emotion poured out of him like a boat careening over a waterfall. Harbor kicked the door shut behind him and tried to coax him over to the sofa but he ended up just collapsing by her coffee table and Harbor went down with him. She'd never seen Harold like this before and frankly it scared her. She forced his leg out straight so he didn't hurt it any more than it already had been and just held onto him while he worked through whatever this was. She wanted to ask, of course Harbor wanted to ask, but she refrained. His sobs continued and a moment later she managed to get his glasses off and petted his hair comfortingly. 

“Shush, it's okay. You're alright, I'm here.” She muttered, the words tumbled from her lips without her really realizing.

“... Carter is … she's dead.” He stuttered and Harbor's heart plummeted.

She'd heard the name Carter mentioned before, she was one of the detectives they were 'friends' with, the one they'd handed Craig Weatherly over to. Suddenly she understood Harold's sorrow. The man's breathing came in short, rapid bursts that bordered on hyperventilating. She clung to Finch tighter.

“John's been shot.” He bewailed and it made her heart clench. “I don't know if … oh God, I don't know-”

Harbor cut him off as tears started to prick in her eyes, he clung to her for dear life so she just sat there with her arms wrapped around him tightly. So much had happened to this man and now it had finally gotten too much. The twenty-two year old knew he needed to get it out, knew she was probably the  _only_ person he could go to who wouldn't question him. Who he could vaguely tell without there being too many consequences; he was in shock, didn't mean he was any less paranoid. 

The emerald eyed whore continued to shush him as she shuffled to ensure his neck remained as straight as possible. She doubted he could feel the agony in his neck in that moment but he certainly would when the adrenaline wore off. Ever so gently Harold found himself rocked in loving arms and soothed with little kisses to the top of his head. 

“It's okay, Hank.”

Empty words they both knew that, Detective Carter was dead, it wasn't okay, but Harold needed comfort and that was exactly what she'd give him. Harbor comforted him as best she could, stroked the fluffy hair she loved so much and just let him cry, let him get the panic and fear and shock out. Harbor didn't think him any less of a man, didn't think him weak or anything like that. She cuddled him close and tried to fill him with all the safety and care she could.

Neither of them knew how long they sat there on the floor half between her sofa and coffee table and frankly it didn't matter, a minute could have been an hour, an hour could have been a minute. He continued to blather and mutter in between ragged breaths, some of it made sense but most Harbor didn't understand, the headline was clear though, Detective Carter had been gunned down and Reese lay in critical condition. What hurt Harbor the most was that she could tell Harold blamed himself, she'd hardly dipped her toe into his and John's world of secrets but she knew enough to realize Harold would have done everything he could have possible thought of to protect his allies. Maybe Finch had been responded for it all or maybe it had just been a series of events he had no real control over. None of that was for Harbor Caldwell to decide, in that moment her only job was to hold this mystery of a man and fill him full of comfort until he had no more tears to shed. So that was what Harbor did, she sat there on the floor in her pyjamas holding the suit clad man as he tried to process the horrors of whatever had happened. 

“You're okay, Harold. It's going to be okay.” She whispered against his ear. 

It didn't matter than she'd left him on the street a week ago after she'd learnt about Grace, didn't matter that Hank probably wouldn't ever tell her why these things had happened. In the end all that mattered was that she cared about him and that he'd come to _her_. 

~ X ~

When Harold's eyes fluttered open they hurt, felt red and raw as he rubbed at them. For a moment he had no idea where he was and couldn't see through his blurry vision and sleep. He glanced to his right to see a black blob that he assumed was a coffee table and started to pat around for shi glasses which he found rather quickly. He slipped them on and then he remembered where he was, what had happened. This was Harbor's apartment. The suit clad man remembered why he was there, that Carter was dead and John lay in a hospital bed with a hole in him. Terror started to rise in his stomach but Harold refused to let it take him over again, with a calming breath he forced it back down to the depths.

He was sat on the floor with his back propped up against the couch arm which had been fortunate because otherwise his neck would have been screaming at him even more than usual. However, he felt something behind his lower back and when Harold reached he found legs. Blue-eyes darted back to his right and now that he had spectacles on and had been welcomed back to the world of lines and details he could see Harbor asleep in one of the most unnatural positions he'd ever seen. She lay mostly on her right side slightly between the coffee table and the black leather sofa, her pyjama shorts had been hiked up her thigh even higher than they'd been to begin with and her arms had been folded under her as a makeshift pillow. It couldn't have been comfortable. Harbor's left leg was behind his lower back for the most part, sandwiched between himself and the sofa arm, while her right had been bent painfully with her foot against his knee. Clearly she'd been sat so her chest had been to his back at some point but she'd eventually fallen asleep and keeled over sideways.

Fallen asleep? Harold hadn't known where to go after … after everything and had somehow ended up at Harbor's door. He'd cried like a baby, the tears wanted to return but there wasn't anything left to roll down his lightly tanned cheeks.

He couldn't stay, needed to see John, needed to watch for new Numbers from The Machine, needed to check on Fusco and Carter's family – on Taylor – needed to feed Bear; though Miss Shaw had probably got that one covered. 

With his mask of control firmly back in place Harold carefully stood up so as not to hurt his hip, back or any other ouchy bit he'd forgotten about. Fortunately he managed to move into a kneeling position, his leg protested but Finch didn't care, because of him Harbor had been forced to sleep on the cold, wooden floor all night with him half sat on her. Sure enough when he touched her thigh the skin was cold, not deathly so but cold nevertheless. The bespectacled man hadn't picked anyone – woman or otherwise – up in a very long time, not good for his back, his leg or any of the rest of him but he forced himself to lift a sleeping Harbor into his arms bridal style. It hurt – fuck did it hurt – but Harold was used to pain and he was rewarded by her snuggling into his three-piece suit in search of warmth and his comforting scent. 

Awkwardly he carried the much younger woman over the short distance into her bedroom where he set her down on the bed and tugged her covers up over her as suns hone in through the window. Harold peered down at his watch while he sat on the side of her bed to steady himself; ten-forty-three. Finch hadn't got a clue how long he'd been asleep but it wasn't a question that needed answering, not when he had to check on John, he  _needed_ to see his friend. All that blood. Carter and Reese had been shot by Simmons and he'd just  _stood_ there staring. He'd done nothing, what could he have done? Harold needed to see John if nothing else. 

With a deep, steadying sigh he cleared his mind as best he could and got back to his feet. He limped through to the coffee table where he thankfully found a pen and a stack of bright blue sticky notes resting haphazardly. Didn't take him more than two seconds to write a quick note. 'Thank You' that was all it said and with that he left Harbor to sleep.

~ X~

The young escort stood by the bed as she slipped her blouse back on after her 'meeting' with Thomas Martinez at their usual hotel. Her Client was a nice enough guy even if he did have one of the most severe cases of Mommy Issues she'd ever seen. She'd just buttoned up her blouse, all lost in her thoughts when Thomas spoke with an air of genuine concern in his deep baratone. 

“You alright, Cassie?” He enquired as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. “You seem a little off today like something is bothering you.”

“I'm fine.” She assured and he kissed her shoulder.

Thomas just chuckled completely unaware of the things that went on inside her brain.

“You're not thinking about another guy, are you, Cassie.” He teased. “I'd be offended. This is my masculine prowess we're talking about here.”

Harbor steeled her mask, she couldn't be Harbor Caldwell right now, she needed to be Cassandra the escort. She plastered a convincing smile across her face and spun around in his arms, the man towered over her even in her heels and grinned when his dark-brown eyes met her green ones. She rocked up onto her tip-toes so she could kiss his cheek – he'd have loved a real kiss but Harbor never kissed on the lips when she was working – and made sure to press her cleavage into his chest. 

“As if anyone could ever match you and your prowess. Trust me, you're the only man on my mind right now.” 

Thomas seemed happy to accept that because he smiled wickedly at her with that devilish twinkle in his eyes.

“Good.” He kissed her forehead. “Can I see you next week? I've got a conformance on Thursday and I know I'm gonna need a certain someone to sooth the tension out of me.”

Harbor let out a little hum as she leant into his broad chest, he was a manly man, thick hair on his chest tall and dark with large hands; the sort of man any woman would want, Harbor included.

“Shouldn't be a problem. Text me what time, I'm free Thursday, always for you.”

With that he let her finish getting dressed while he searched around for wherever his cuff links had gotten to. Once she'd tucked her blouse back into her skirt and pressed another kiss to his stubble coated cheek Harbor left the room and headed to the elevators.

Thomas had been right, she was distracted, Hank had been the only thing she'd thought about since she'd woken up alone to a note that just said 'Thank you'. She worried about him and about his friend, John. The newspapers had been making a huge fuss over HR and the detective who had been shot dead, about the manhunt for Simmons and Harbor had sailed passed 'beyond worried about Harold and Reese' shortly after reading the headlines. John Reese was Harold's best friend whether he admitted it or not, it was plain to see, and Harbor didn't know what it would do to Harold if he lost him. She'd entertained the idea of going to The Library again or maybe that safehouse but she didn't know if she was supposed to. Hank's people probably had a lot of guns and she didn't know how many of them were there and if – after the death of Detective Carter – they'd just shoot first and ask questions later; Harbor rather liked her face arranged the way it was, she didn't need a ventilation unit fitting. 

She stayed in her head the entire journey back to her apartment. The taxi driver tried to strike up a conversation but he didn't get too far, Harold was the only man on her mind, he had her full attention.

When she got back to her building she'd firmly decided she would shower, change and the curl up in bed with a good book and a glass of wine; worrying over the walking enigma code had left her in that sort of a mood. However as she headed towards the front door she heard a woman call out her name, it wasn't a voice she recognized. Harbor raised an eyebrow at the strange brunette, there was something oh so horror movie head case about her. She was older than Harbor by more than a decade with dark hair and a  _look_ Harbor just didn't trust. She wanted to back away but then she spotted something – or more correctly some _one_ at her feet – Bear! Harold, this woman had something to do with Harold if she had Bear with her. 

“You are Harbor Caldwell, aren't you?” She questioned again a little louder than before and Harbor nodded.

“Yeah. Who are you?”

The woman let out some vaguely creepy chuckle.

“Oh, you can call me Root.” _What the fuck sort of name is that? Shit, I can't say anything, look at my name._ “I need you to take care of Bear a while.” 

Harbor's eyes shot down to the dog, who had a squeaky toy in his mouth, as an eyebrow raised. She opened her mouth to speak but Root got there first.

“You see Harry, Shaw and I are going to be gone a short time and someone needs to keep an eye on the puppy here. It wouldn't have been necessary but Shaw and Harry went ahead without me, so naughty.”  _ Yep, you've got a screw loose, haven't you lady.  _ “I have it on good authority that Bear likes you so you get him for a while.” 

Bear's leash was thrust out towards her then and Harbor took it simply by instinct. The toy squeaked  as he padded to sit beside her instead of Root. When she glanced back up the elder woman seemed to be looking her over. 

“You really are beautiful.” That wasn't a sentence she was unused to – not that Harbor was bragging - but it normally came from men who'd paid for her time. “Hmm, truly.” Root's eyes flicked up and down once more. “What on Earth did Harry do to get _you_ into his bed I wonder.” 

Root paused then clearly listening to something which Harbor assumed to be an earpiece and nodded  curtly. 

“Okay.” Said the strange woman but not to Harbor. As if realizing she was still being stared at Root took out a neat stack of bound bills and shoved them into Harbor's hand. “Bear will need feeding and treats.” 

“Where is Harold?” She half demanded as yet another wave of concern for the man washed over her. “Is he okay?”

Root breathed out a half-hearted laugh. “I'm going to go check.” 

The elder woman just turned and walked away then without so much as a goodbye, she did however mutter 'there, I did it, are you happy now?' but once again it was directed to whoever was talking in her ear; because it certainly wasn't Harold. 

Alone she peered down to Bear once the pair were alone then sighed and crouched down after she'd tucked the – frankly ridiculous amount of – money into her bag. She tickled his face which he seemed pleased with if the nuzzling into her hand was anything to go by.

“Hey, Teddy Bear. What new trouble have your Dads got themselves into, huh?” She wondered.

Of course the dog didn't answer and Harbor really hoped Bear being with her didn't become determinant. She loved dogs but Bear belonged with said Dads; Harold and Reese.

“How about I go get changed and then we go play in the park? I'll get you some food afterwards.” She exulted, clearly happy to see Bear; damn she loved those fluffy ears.

Just because Harold nor Reese were there didn't mean their dog wouldn't get the very best care Harbor could provide. She'd always wanted a dog when she was little, desperately begged her father for a Rottweiler – she liked that they had eyebrows – but he'd been allergic so no dog, no cat, no rabbit or anything else. Sebastian had caved somewhat when she'd turned eight and gotten her a goldfish who she'd named Cathulu and adored until the poor thing had gone belly up. 

Harbor tickled Bear's ears again then rose to her feet and, as promised, she promptly changed, put some jeans and a sweater as well as some rarely worn flats, then headed back out with the darling dog.

The prostitute didn't have any idea who this Root person was but she did hope Root would help Harold wherever he was. Months on end she'd known Harold, and though he'd saved her Harbor still didn't know exactly what it was he and Reese did. In the end she supposed she didn't care, Harbor would settle for knowing he was safe.


	10. Daddy's Home

At the end of her first day with Bear she found herself asleep in her big bed with the dog beside her. She'd gotten him a new toy, a plush chew toy shaped like an elephant, that Bear had been reluctant to put down since they'd left the store with it; that was why it lay on the bed as well looking thoroughly chewed and slavered on. Bear snored but Harbor remained awake, lay there staring up at the ceiling. Being high on the building's fifth floor meant the orangey glow of the street lamps didn't reach her apartment but every now and again something would somehow manage to shine small arcs of light that faded just as quickly as they'd appeared. Harbor didn't speak, too lost in her thoughts and she didn't want to disturb Bear, so the prostitute just continued to lay there in silence. She'd never been religious but in that moment she prayed, prayed to anyone who'd listen. It didn't matter who they were, Odin, Zeus, God, Allah, it really didn't matter as long as they kept Harold safe. 

If Harbor thought about how he'd gotten under her skin, why she cared about him so deeply, Harbor didn't have an answer. When they'd first met Harold had been little more than an oddity that had occurred behind a concierge desk that she'd tried to decipher in between clients, but he'd soon become her friend. She wanted him safe and knocking on her door asking for his and Reese's dog back.

After a while she rolled onto her side so she could throw an arm over Bear and finally let sleep take her. Harbor had no answers and her list of questions grew by the day but she supposed that would be something she'd have to accept; Harold Finch was a very private person after all. 

~X~

Fortunately Root had dropped Bear off with Harbor at the beginning of her mandatory week off a month, so she had plenty of time to devote to the darling animal. She'd played with him in the Park, bought him one of those massive chew treats that Bear had seemed so grateful for and had even gone so far as to attend one of those Doga sessions basically just to see what all the fuss was about. In the end Harbor – and Bear – had decided it was an utterly stupid waste of time despite all the beneficial things people claimed it had. Bear had spent the entire thing with the dog equivalent of a 'dude, seriously?' expression on his furry face; frankly all that animal needed was a tennis ball and a few other dogs to play with every now and again. 

They'd just wrapped up another massive game of fetch in the Park when Harbor heard a vaguely familiar voice calling out to her, then it clicked; Grace. Suddenly memories of leaving Harold stood on the street flooded back as well as a wave of guilt. Clearly Harold still loved Grace and probably would until the day he died, and it made her feel like some dirty little secret. Harbor slept with men – a lot of them married – all the time, why did Harold's ex-fiancée make her feel like the homewrecker? 

Still, Harbor was an actress in many ways so she put on a bold smile and turned to face the elder woman like she'd not had some of the best orgasms of her life while on top of the man this woman loved.

“Hello, Grace.”

The redhead seemed surprised but pleasantly so. “You remember my name, I'm honored.”

Harbor shrugged. “Nah, I just have a good memory.”

_That and it's hard to forget the name of the woman who loves the man I've grown attached to. Attached? Is that what I'm calling it now?_

A quick glance over Grace's shoulder revealed the easel set up with something half drawn adorning it. Harbor couldn't help but wonder how many times Harold had sat beside her and watched Grace draw and paint. Had Grace drawn him? 

Her mind snapped back to the conversation then when the redhead spoke again, a big grin on her face as she crouched down to greet Bear who growled, and, as much as she cursed herself for it, some evil part at the back of her mind was pleased about it. 

“Stil.” She commanded. “Ontspan.” Harbor peered down to Grace then who'd clearly been confused by the sudden change of language and odd commands. “Sorry, he's a military dog and pretty protective.”

The redhead rose back to her feet, that happy smile still on her face. “No harm done. He really is beautiful. What's his name?”

“Bear.” She disclosed softly as she tickled those irresistible fluffy ears of his. “I call him Teddy Bear though, he's a sweetheart really.”

“Oh, most dogs are.” The elder woman continued. “I've been thinking about getting one but maybe not. How long have you had him?”

The first time she and Grace had spoken Harbor had enjoyed it, she didn't have any friends really so it had been nice to speak so at ease with Grace. Then Harold had gone all … _Harold-y_ on her and now Harbor didn't want anything to do with Grace; too awkward.

“About a week.” The escort answered a few seconds later. “He's not mind, he's Hank's. I'm just looking after him while he's … out of town.”

Pain sparked behind Grace's eyes at the mention of Hank and Harbor cursed herself further instead of letting that evil voice rear its ugly head again. Harbor hurt as well, she missed Harold but at least she knew he was alive. She didn't want to even imagine how much pain Grace must still carry with her. It was unfair and Harbor wanted despertly to remove herself from the situation. If she left Grace could go back to her painting and try to forget about her lost love without Harbor saying his name ever five minutes. 

“Sorry,” Harbor began solemnly “but I need to get going. Someone gets grumpy if he's not fed on time.”

That got a small chuckle out of Grace and the elder woman let the younger leave after they'd said their goodbyes.

As Harbor made her get away she wondered what the hell was going on with her. Why did she care so bloody much about Harold Finch? Why was he under her skin? Harbor sighed as she continued through the Park. 

“Teddy Bear, you know Harold better than I do, why does everything about him just make you want to stay with him when it should make you head for the hills or a police station?” 

Of course the dog didn't answer, just carried on chewing the elephant toy she'd gotten for him as they returned to her apartment. Fortunately by the time she got there Harbor had managed to push most of her Harold centred thoughts away and had instead shifted to focusing on the idea of pretending she was six and binge watching Disney movies for the rest of the day; she may have had a Gothic streak a mile wide but that didn't stop her having an LED Lumière on her night stand. 

The second her apartment door opened Bear charged across to her sofa which he promptly jumped up on with his toy and settled down.

Harbor rolled her eyes. “Could have at least wiped your paws, boy.”

The raven-haired beauty set her stuff down and went straight to the kitchen where she filled and set Bear's bowl down only for him to come charging and nearly knock her over. Harbor couldn't help but giggle quietly to herself as she watched him hungrily munch down his food. She adored Bear, he always seemed so happy and it was infectious.

She grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and headed back into the living area. She'd just taken a swig when the door was suddenly kicked in and a dark-haired woman burst in with a gun raised and a blank expression. Harbor didn't scream, didn't run and didn't even drop the bottle. Without even thinking Harbor chucked it at the intruder who ended up momentarily stunned and it gave Harbor a second to launch forwards and punch her square in the face. Her attacker went to punch back but then Harold's voice called out.

“Enough!” He called in a voice more forceful than usual. “I told you this wasn't needed, Miss Shaw.”

Both women ground to a halt as Harold entered the apartment fully and Shaw dripped with water.

“Hank, what's going on?” She questioned. So happy to see him but angry all at the same time.

“Where's the dog?!” Shaw demanded.

Harbor's brow furrowed deeply in confusion at the stranger's words but still she gestured to her left where the kitchen lay.

“He's right there.”

Shaw peered past her then returned her steely eyes to Harbor so they could look her up and down. Harbor had no idea who this Shaw woman was but it was plain to see that she didn't exactly play well with others. The elder woman didn't say another work, just barged past the escort and made a b-line for Bear. Then it clicked.

“You all knew I had Bear, right?”

Hank sighed a little as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Unfortunately Miss Groves, you will probably know her as Root, neglected to mention where she'd dropped Bear off. It's taken me a while to track him down.” 

“You know you could give me your number and I'd have been able to _tell_ you.” Exasperated Harbor. “Or ask if you were coming back.” 

Finch paused for a moment then looking a little ashamed of himself before his mouth opened so he could apologize or say whatever he'd wanted to say, but Harbor wrapped her arms around him before he could get a single syllable out. Her grip was tight but gentle.

“I missed you.” She muttered against his neck and Harold found his arms had wrapped around her slender waist without him even noticing.

Meanwhile Sameen sat on the kitchen floor with Bear as he ate, one hand in his fur the other squeezing water from her hair. When she glanced up she saw Finch wrapped around a woman less than half his age and a cold laugh escaped her. 

“I guess Claypool was right, you do have 'a certain gravitational pull' with women.”

Harold sideways glanced at her because he couldn't turn his neck and turning bodily would have meant moving Harbor; either way Shaw was fully aware it was an unimpressed expression.

The escort pulled back then and pressed a kiss to his thin lips. Not overly passionate but it was certainly more than chaste.

“Where have you been, Hank? Are you alright?”

“I'm afraid the recent events of my life have been rather something of a roller coaster and not what I would have wanted.”

While Harold didn't appear more injured than normal Harbor could tell he'd been through the wars. 

“How's Reese?” She asked more softly.

Finch sighed again, his eyes slipped shut a moment as he gathered himself. He found himself thankful that Harbor had remained so close because it meant he could still cling to her for comfort without it being obvious.

“Mister Reese has resigned.”

That was all he said, that one short, straight to the point sentence and while it appeared emotionless on the surface Harbor knew he was in pain.

“I'm so sorry, Hank.” Harbor lamented softly.

“No, no, it's not your fault. Mister Reese had every right to leave and I respect that.”

Harbor pressed herself closer to the suit clad man, concern evident in her bold green-eyes. 

“Is he not coming back for Bear?”

Finch shook his head. “It doesn't look that way.”

Shaw pushed herself to her feet then once Bear had finished munching down his food and returned to his toy on the couch. The only noise for those few brief seconds was the creature's claws on the hardwood. 

“How did you know which food he liked?” Sameen asked in a rather disinterested tone. 

Frankly it was the sort of subject change that both Harold and Harbor needed so they went along with it, both turned to face Shaw.

“I figured Bear probably got the best food on the market so I went to the place that sold the best and Bear took me right to the brand he wanted.”

Truthfully Bear had done most of the work, Harbor had just paid and put it in a bowl. She'd been a glorified butler.

“Clever.” Shaw hummed.

“Yeah, he is.”

That got another smirk from the damp woman.

“I like her, Finch.”

“Well, I'm very grateful to have your seal of approval, Miss door kicker.” Harbor deadpanned.

The two women weren't teasing happily but they certainly weren't glaring at one another either and Harold didn't know whether to be pleased or slightly concerned about that. 

Sameen grinned. “Oh I  _really_ like her. You've got good taste, Finch.”

Harold grew more uncomfortable by the second. First he'd had Arthur Claypool tossing out tidbits about Harold's past at MIT with Nathan and now he had Shaw seeing him interact with Harbor as well.

“I'm sorry I threw water all over you.” Said Harbor regrettably.

“I'd have done the same, it was the obvious play. You've got a good right hook too, you do martial arts or something?”

 _Oh dear God they're becoming friends!_ Harold didn't quite know how to process that, and it troubled him. 

“My father was a marine and he wanted a son.”

Shaw snorted. “Ahh,  so daddy turned his little princess into a badass, I like it.”

“Okay, now we have determined that you and Harbor can be friendly I think we should be leaving, don't you, Miss Shaw?”

Neither woman argued, Shaw grabbed Bear's leash and went to clip it onto Bear before she and he dog vanished out the apartment. Sameen pulled the door shut but it didn't latch thanks to a certain someone getting all overzealous with their knocking technique. 

Finch just stood there flicking his eyes between the broken door and the stunning twenty-two year old still half in his arms.

“I'll have your door replaced by the end of the day, I promise.” Oh, Harbor had no doubt he'd get that done. “I'm sorry to have dragged you back into my world, Harbor. Your decision to leave should have been respected and honored as well and I-” 

Harbor cut him off with a kiss. Her body pressed up against his and Harold's hands automatically found their way to her hips then down up cup and squeeze her backside. The green-eyed angel let out a hum of want.

“I thought I was doing the right thing for you, Hank.” She whispered between kisses. “Of course I didn't want out. I like being with you. I worried about you. And I missed you so damn much.”

Then Harbor was working his belt free and slowly forced him backwards through her bedroom door and down to sit on the bed. When she dropped to her knees Harold felt want rush through him; dark and animal-like. All he could do was watch the stunning beauty before him … then the world flooded back like an angry tsunami.

“Wait. We shouldn't, Miss Shaw will be waiting downstairs.” He sounded breathless.

Harbor breathed out a laugh. “You're friend doesn't seem that dumb so she'll know exactly what's happening up here.” She teased.

That was all it took to get Hank to cave. He took off his suit jacket and then went for his waistcoat but Harbor's soft hand came up to stop him.

“No. Leave the suit on, I like it.”

Harbor grinned and Harold didn't object, just toed off his shoes and then pulled her up so he could push her onto the bed. He ignored the yelling from his hip as he crawled over her, it was a manageable pain as long as he countered himself by resting slightly more weight on the other leg. 

She happily let him shed her of her clothing, the purple blouse was light as a feather and sort of floated down to the floor when Hank tossed it away, and those skin tight jeans practically melted away. 

“Are you sure about this?” He asked.

She'd left him after their lunch and he couldn't blame her. Maybe she was happy to see him again but that didn't mean she still wanted this, wanted him.

As if to answer Harbor pushed her hips up to meet his hard length still confined in his suit pants and one of them gasped, they didn't know who and to be honest neither much cared. Harbor's hands slipped from his shoulders and found their way to his belt which she finished opening, then slipped her hand inside. There was a sharp intake of breath and then Harold started to tease her breast, his girl smiled as she stroked his length. Finch didn't think it was possible but he grew harder. As he reclaimed her mouth Harbor shimmied from her panties and gave him far better access to the wet heat of her core. She pumped him slowly as his kisses dropped down her body and eventually he pulled back, with one final kiss he shed her of her bra leaving her naked as the day she was born. Harold gazed at the stunning girl beneath him. 

“Beautiful.”

She knew he meant it and it made her smile. Harold pushed her thighs apart and kissed them in turn, he'd not let the ache in his neck stop him, moving ever closer to the place she wanted him more than anything to kiss. When he did she gasped and plunged her hands into his fluffy brown hair to keep him in place. His tongue lapped at her folds, he was amazed at how wet she was for him, her hands tightened a little as his tongue circled her clit. 

“Hank!” She all but screamed.

He kissed that sensitive bundle of nerves over and over making her scream louder and louder for him, then Finch slipped a finger inside her. Her grip on his hair became vice like but it only spurred him on as she moaned. Another finger pressed into her heat in and he crocked them as he kissed her clit. It didn't take long for Harbor to start pushing back on his fingers, she was close and he knew that and so he slipped in a third finger. Harbor tasted divine on his tongue, like the sweetest of desserts. Oh how did her body make his sing? Maybe she should have been named harmony because somehow she resented in such a perfect way that made his body crave her. 

He all but purred when she screamed out his name and wrapped her legs around his head. Harold made sure to keep the movement going throughout her orgasm until she was left panting, her dazzling green-eyes closed. God, she sounded so perfect.

Finch's fingers slipped from her core and Harbor mourned the loss as he clambered back up the large bed to kiss her plum colored lips, she could taste herself on him when his tongue plundered her mouth. The kiss broke and Finch smiled a true smile at the sight of Harbor's lips glistening with her own juices, his hard member pulsing and twitching at the way her tongue licked her bottom lip. If he got his way she would look like that all the time.

“Please, I need you, Hank.” Harbor's voice was little more than a whisper but the words echoed through Finch and made him crave her all the more.

The escort's hips rose to meet his again and it was then that he realized he was still fully clothed while she lake entirely naked before him. There was such power in that, in being on top of a naked, younger woman while he remained clothed and secretive. However, when he thought about it deeper he came to ascertain that it wasn't case at all, he only had this power as long as Harbor allowed him to. Then something else struck him, she did let him have it,  _wanted_ him to have it.

“Please, Hank.”

He smiled to himself. “How could I ever say no to you?”

Harbor responded by using her feet to pull him even closer, Harold just smiled. With one sharp but far from painful thrust he filled her to the hilt, he stilled for a moment letting her adjust to him.

“Move.” She begged and demanded all at once. She was so beautiful and perfect.

Finch quickly obliged pulling almost all the way out only to slam back in. Harbor dragged him down for a kiss but moaned into it when his hand returned to her wet sex. It didn't take long to have his girl moaning and meeting his thrusts. A perfect rhythm; delicate but overflowing with heated passion. The raven-haired beauty's tongue made its way into Finch's mouth expertly as they became one, mapping his mouth, taking her tongue across his teeth causing his thrusts to become erratic for a second or two. Harbor was dangling on the very edge with her genius not far behind her, she wiggled her hips in just the right way, teasingly, and send him into some kind of rut, thrusting like his life depended on it. It was then that Harbor grew bold and flipped them – which was hard to do in such a way that didn't anger his neck. Harold adored the way her eyes sparkled so innocently while her smile lingered wickedly. His fingers gripped her hips leaving tiny little bruises that she actually cherished over her skin, pushing herself down onto him, impaling herself, she gasped. Harbor leant down to kiss him again, gasping at the new angle and the way her nipples grazed against his waistcoat. 

The sound of her mews and wanton pants made his body purr with an animalistic pride that only Harbor – naughty, perfect Harbor – could create within him. When his eyes fluttered open he saw the way her head had fallen back and her bottom lip was between her teeth, he'd not last longer and Finch sure as hell wouldn't leave his perfect creature alone on the edge. Talented, slightly calloused fingers, found Harbor's needy core once more and he pushed them both over the edge. 

Harold knew he'd always end up coming back to this girl, no matter how much he lied to himself. Even Grace hadn't had this much of an effect on him. Harbor Caldwell though? She made Harold want to lay the world at her feet and beg for _just one more_ kiss.


	11. Girl Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IN REFERENCE TO S03E14 - PROVENANCE
> 
> Sorry this has taken so long for me to post. I've been swamped at work making funeral tributes. If someone ever asks me why I can't make a 3D tiger tribute out of flower 'quicker because it's just stuffing daisies into stuff' - actual words - ever again I'm feeding them to a bloody tiger! Be a florist they said, it'll be fun they said. Okay, anger vent over let's get on with the show.

As far as Harbor could tell things were back to – for a lack of a better term – _normal_ for Harold and his merry band of killers. There had been something about a plane that Finch had off-handedly mentioned but as usual he'd been vague and Harbor had known better than to push the subject. Reese had returned to the Library as well, as soon as he'd come back Harbor had noticed the change in the tech genius, he'd lit up and been so much happier; Bear had seemed happier as well since he'd gotten both his dads back. However, the most surprising thing to have happened to Harbor since her door had been kicked in was Sameen Shaw, or Badass as Harbor had taken to calling her. 

Shaw had shown up at her apartment door and actually knocked. Instead of starting a fight or looking for details on Harold she'd asked for – of all things – outfit advice, something that would draw attention at a black tie even but still give her plenty of mobility and allow her to carry a number of knives strapped to her thigh. Of course Harbor had been beyond surprised by the odd and unforeseen request but she'd jumped at the chance to be of assistance. Harold and Reese had saved her from a twat with a gun so she supposed this was her way of giving back, that and she liked Shaw; anyone who protected the dog first was a friend of Harbor's. 

That was how Harbor found herself stood in her bedroom before her open, massive, closet while Sameen sat on the edge of her bed looking ready to kill. At this point in her life and having known Harold for as long as she had she'd started to just take things in her stride. 

“What are you, five-two?” Harbor asked without taking her eyes from the rows of dresses and skirts she owned.

Shaw shrugged. “Yeah, why?”

The escort just chuckled quietly. “You have your secrets I have mine. Now, tell me, is this thing a charity gala, opening night, what?”

Shaw didn't seem overly enthusiastic but Harbor suspected that wasn't anything new.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Harbor peered over her shoulder to the elder woman. “Oh trust me, it matters.”

“It's some special exhibit at the museum, I'm not telling you anything else.” 

Oh and didn't that sound like Harold. “I wouldn't expect you to.”

Sameen watched as Harold's girl rummaged through her massive closet a moment while she muttered to herself about dresses and other things the assassin didn't really care about. 

It took Harbor a few minutes to find what she wanted but eventually she took out a garment bag and made her way over to Shaw with a smile of triumph. Sameen leant backwards a little as she wondered if this was going to be like a teen movie where they all had makeovers; if it was she didn't care what Finch said, this girl was getting dead. 

“Don't look so stricken,” Harbor rolled her eyes, “it's not like I'm going to shoot you.”

Shaw raised an eyebrow. “If you try to braid my hair I might actually prefer it.”

Harbor wasn't impressed but said nothing, just hooked the garment bag over the back of her closet door and unzipped it. The metal teeth gave way easily to reveal what lay beneath. 

“This is the most expensive thing I own – well, it was until Hank gave me that first edition of _The Island of Doctor Moreau._ ” Clearly the elder woman didn't care. “Anyway, your chest is smaller than mine and you're shorter but it should fit.”

Ever so carefully Harbor took the white dress out of the garment bag and hung it up all neat and tidy. It was pure white, tight with little spaghetti straps and would show off Shaw's cleavage very well. Though plain the dress more than spoke for itself.

“Put this on and you won't have to shoot a man to bring him to his knees.”

That got a smirk out of Shaw and Harbor filed it away as a sort of win. The elder woman finally rose from the bed and went to inspect Harbor's choice of outfit, brown-eyes looked it over and she had to admit when Finch and Reese saw her they'd be speechless. That was why she was doing this, neither of them seemed to think she could work it when she needed to; not now Shaw had access to Harbor they wouldn't.

“Pretty sure we're the same size.” It was only then she realized Harbor had gone back to look for heels. “Please don't get blood on them they're the next most expensive thing I own. I trust you can do your own hair and make up.”

Shaw nodded. “Yeah. Thanks, Harbor.”

The younger woman just zipped the bag back up after she'd put the dress back. “Sure, any time. You'll need a coat as well, storm is coming apparently.”

The sound of rummaging sounded again while Shaw just watched on with an amused smile. It didn't take Harbor as long to find the right coat and pull it out into the light. The thing didn't look as though it had been worn very often but Shaw wasn't surprised what with it being white and fluffy.

“You think of everything, don't you.”

Harbor shrugged a single shoulder with a twinkling smile. “Not everything but I'm good. However, I am curious why you came to me though.”

That question had been lingering between them since the assassin had shown up but neither had made any comment on it until now. I wasn't like they were friends or anything, they'd only met once and that had been after Shaw had kicked Harbor's door down like she was conducting some sort of drugs bust.

Harbor offered Shaw the shoe box which she accepted while the coat got hooked on the coat hanger inside the garment bag.

“Reese and Finch think I can't blend well. I'm a hammer, Reese is a scalpel so Finch says. I could find a dress on my own, I _can_ work it when I have to but you're the girly one, you all this crap, and I want to see the satisfying 'oh shit' looks on their faces.”

Harbor roared with laughter, a sound far louder than seemed possible from the escort. By the time she was done laughing Harbor had to wipe away a tear. 

“Shaw, I'm not girly, I just like short dresses. And... understanding the nuances of an event or a situation is like espionage. One wrong move and everything is in jeopardy, people look at you different, doors close, they make assumptions and before you know it the game is up. The only difference is you're likely to get shot and I'd be screamed at and thrown out on my ass like I was scum.”

Sameen looked the younger woman up and down, something didn't quite make sense about her and not just the fact she had the hots for Finch. This girl was darker than anyone knew, Harold probably hadn't noticed it – not fully at least – and Reese had probably been overly suspicious of it. Shaw though? She saw it for what it was, a darkness that had happened, something that had changed Harbor Caldwell and it wasn't something as simple as being an orphan. 

“Why do you do this?” She asked the taller woman after a moment. “Let men pay you for sex? I mean you've got assesses so work them but why? Always playing into what _they_ want. You're dangerous, so why settle for being an escort when you could put that danger to much more use?” 

Harbor sighed and went to aimlessly look around her closet. Shaw suspected Harold would have looked into her past but Shaw knew there was a difference between facts that had been recorded and facts that had actually happened. 

“My mom died giving birth to me so it was just me and my dad. He was a marine and he'd always wanted a son so he didn't really know how to raise a girl; especially alone.” Harbor's voice was low and sad. “He raised me as best he could, how he'd have raised a boy. Played catch with me, taught me to use a firearm and defend myself, not nearly as well as you or Reese but it's better than nothing.” _Wasn't when Craig Weatherly tried to kill you, was it?_ “When I say I'm not girly that's true, I don't really know how to be. As I got older I obviously started to develop curves and boys noticed me and then I realized just how much power I had over men if I went about it the right way. Then when I was sixteen my father died and I ended up on my own. No family, no guardian and a sixteen year old going into foster care? Doesn't usually go well.” Harbor paused a moment and Shaw knew they were getting to the root of that darkness she saw inside the prostitute. “The house I got sent to had two other girls, one older and one younger. The foster parents weren't good people, they ran the girls as whores and did the same with me. Didn't care what happened to us as long as we told the people who came to check on us periodically that we were okay.” 

“They dead?” Was all Sameen asked, voice mostly blank of emotion save for irritation and mild anger.

Harbor shook her head, her long hair fell over her shoulders.

“No. The elder girl, Charlotte, after I came into the house she went to the cops and told them. My foster parents are locked up now. After the first time they …  _sold me_ ,  I left. Just walked out in the middle of the night and never went back.” She took a deep breath. “Sometimes I feel bad, I should have stayed with the other girls but I was young and didn't know what else to do. Obviously Charlotte and Lydia didn't suffer too much longer but still, I should have stayed with them. Maybe me walking out was the right thing to do because it scared my foster parents so much they didn't notice when Charlotte slipped out to go to the cops. I ended up here-” Harbor gestured outside to the vast city, “-and Fowler found me walking by the hotel one day.” She smirked. “He tried smooth talking me and I knew what he wanted, I'm not stupid. I figured this time at least it was my choice and I got paid. Then I met the men, some were dicks sure, but some of them, they were just lonely. Some can't talk to women or think themselves inferior, some have got scars or burns or something else they think is going to disgust women. However, when they were with me they seemed happy, just for a while. I liked that, I still like that. I saw being an escort in a whole new light. I got to help them. I guess it was just a way of justifying it.” 

The raven-haired beauty shrugged as she expected Shaw to tell her she was talking shit.

“Hey, you don't need to justify to me.” That really was the truth, Sameen did the things she did for her own reasons, and Harbor had done the same. “What you do is dangerous too and I have to admit I respect how easily you seem to be able to get access to people and information. Finch told me about your photocopy head thing. You'd make a good agent.” 

The twenty-two year old snorted; very unladylike. “You offering to train me?” She teased.

Harbor had expected the subject to end but no, instead Sameen looked her over head to toe, toe to head then back with calculating eyes. Then, after a disturbing length of silence, she nodded to herself. 

“Why the hell not? Once I'm done with Finch, Reese and this job, I'm coming back here with your bloodless shoes and I'm gonna see how good Daddy trained his little girl.”

With that Shaw left with the garment bag and shoe box in her arms while Harbor just stood there in her room wondering what she'd gotten herself into.

~X~

The very next morning when woke for a run she got read and grabbed her headphones. She'd noticed she'd started to eat more junk food since Harold had entered her life – since the man had little to no cooking skill of his own and seemed to prefer living off take out – so she'd been forcing herself to go jogging more often. It had been fun when she'd had Bear with her, a nice little companion to run through the Park with.

As she left her bedroom wondering if she should listen to _Rammstien_ or _Oomph!_ she found herself quickly ground to a halt when she reached her coffee table, set down neatly was her shoe box and across the couch lay the garment bag. Green-eyes flicked around in search of Shaw but the elder woman wasn't anywhere to be seen. There was, however, a note left on one of the blue sticky notes that had permanent placement on the black coffee table. ' _I_ _didn't think you'd want me to leave this stuff in the hall._ _Had to strip the shoes off but they're not scuffed._ _Gonna have to take a rain check on that training._ _'_ Harbor read over the note with a soft smile, yes Shaw had – once again – broken into her apartment but she rather liked that she seemed to have befriended this badass of a woman; even if it had been accidental. In a way Harbor had been Finch's dirty little secret for a time but now his friends – colleagues? - appeared fairly fond of her; well, she had Bear's approval so who else mattered?

After her run Harbor had gone home, showered and put her stuff away before she'd headed back out onto the busy Manhattan streets with a plan. She made quick work of getting to the bakery then headed straight for The Library. That little voice in the back of her head still told her that Harbor wasn't welcome there, that she shouldn't go back but Harbor ignored said voice. She'd been to the bakery, Harbor could bribe everyone; she hoped. If Harold had wanted her to never return to The Library he'd have probably sat her down and told her, he liked to make things clear when he was serious, just the rest of the time he was cryptic as shit.

Her heels announced her before Harbor was fully up the stairs so she walked in to find Bear sat waiting for her still with the elephant she'd gotten him. Harold quickly caught her attention though, he stood by his desk loading books onto a cart and raised eyebrow of surprise when his blue-eyes met her own polished emeralds. Quite clearly her presence had not been anticipated.

“Harbor? What are you doing here?” He inquired as he limped a few steps towards her.

“I know this is your uber secret headquarters or whatever but, once again, I'd like to point out that I don't have your number.” Harbor told him without looking at him, she just placed the cardboard bakery box down on his desk beside his keyboard while Bear trailed along behind her eager to see if he got something as well.

Finch paused a moment as he took notice of her navy lipstick, so bold but worked wonderfully with her black dress. Harold liked seeing her lipstick, not because it did anything for him necessarily but because it meant he was the only man she'd be seeing. A quick peer down to her heels revealed them to be the same shade of blue and – nope, he snapped his mind back from the gutter. 

“Give me your cellphone.” Insisted the genius.

Harbor just looked at his outstretched hand a moment wondering if he was being serious; she'd known him months and he'd never offered her his number once. Not once! Harbor wouldn't look this gift horse in the mouth though, she smiled – beamed really – and quickly handed the bespectacled man her phone. He tapped a way for a couple of seconds and then the phone was back in her hands. Her smile only grew when she noticed he'd entered his number under 'Hank'.

“Anonymity, your favourite.”

His head tilted a little, as best as he could manage what with four metal pins holding his neck together. 

“I thought you said calling me Hank cancelled out a lie.”

She didn't respond to that just shoved her cellphone away and set her bag down beside the box. Bear must have lost interest because he'd gone back to his bed with his head rested on the toy elephant. Harbor flashed Harold that not so innocent smirk of hers and grabbed him by the tie so she could pull him into a kiss, automatically Finch's large hands went to settle on her hips.

“Save anyone recently?” She asked, her breath hot on his skin, when they broke apart.

He smiled, that smile that made his blue-eyes twinkle. “Two someones actually. However we did have to break in to Symmetric Security to do it.”

 _Well someone's sharing today,_ muttered her mind. “Probably had it coming.” She said a little dismissively. “I see Farrow every now and again, he's the security guard supervisor, bit of a prick at times, I get the feeling Mommy didn't hug him enough.”

Finch paused and just stared at her blankly, had it been a cartoon she'd have waved her hand in front of his face in that far too quickly way cartoons had.

“Farrow?” He questioned with an expression that read as 'mental facepalm'. “Well, I wish I'd known that earlier, it would have made getting his fingerprints an awful lot easier and quicker.”

Harbor kissed him again with a smile. Finch couldn't help noticing how she tasted sugary like donuts.

“Oh, Hank, Baby, I'm full of uses.”

After another kiss Harbor stepped out of Finch's way so he could fix his tie and go back to looking like the perfectly put together gentleman he was.

“I don't doubt that for a single second, Harbor Darling.”

He'd called her that a few times and for the life of her Harbor couldn't work out if he was actually aware he'd used the pet name or not. Harold always seemed so aware of everything but … Harbor didn't know, the nickname seemed spontaneous and unplanned. Harbor could think about that conundrum later.

“I brought you donuts.” Harbor quickly took the hint to move so Harold could march to the bakery box, he flipped the lid open and a subconscious hum of delight when he saw the array of donuts inside. “I don't know if Smiles and Badass are here but I'm sure you and Bear can save them some.”

“I assume 'Smiles' and 'Badass' refer to Mister Reese and Miss Shaw.” It wasn't a question. “No, neither are here, they have the day off. Rare but it happens every now and again.”

Finch sat himself down in his chair and took a rather large bite of his donut, it drew Bear's attention because suddenly the dog was up – elephant forgotten – nuzzling his head into Harold to try and get a treat. Harold stilled when he noticed the evil grin that slowly erupted on the younger woman's face; somehow that calculating look scared him more than guns in his face. 

“That means _you_ have the day off as well!”

Finch didn't pause for a single second, just swallowed his bite and peered up at her. He watched as she perched on the desk and crossed her legs one atop the other giving him a perfect view of the tops of her stockings, she didn't usually wear those but they certainly had Harold's interest. When he thought about it Harold thought Harbor's impossibly green orbs to be the most beautiful part of her but God those legs could kill a man. He couldn't let himself get distracted though. 

“Oh no. I have to go and make it seem like my false identities actually exist. It's a pain sometimes but it needs to be done.” 

Bribing Harold with snacks seemed to work a treat, he'd not mentioned that she wasn't supposed to be there once. 

“So? Reese and Shaw get the day off and you have to go play Mister Fake-Name?” That didn't seem fair.

The suit clad man just shrugged as he finished his donut. “We all have things to do, Harbor. Shaw, I believe, is cleaning the entirety of the armory. Everything from the Glocks to that RFB Carbine she  _stole_.”

“Hmm,” Harbor mused to herself. “I'd have thought her more of a Beretta girl myself.”

Harold eyed the prostitute at that, he hadn't realized she could use a gun until Miss Shaw had off-handedly mentioned it a few days previous. Sure Harbor wouldn't ever be Reese or Sameen but it wasn't like Harbor was going to go down without a fight. 

Harbor raised an eyebrow when Finch brushed sugar from around his mouth with his right hand then slowly trailed his fingertips up her smooth thigh. Usually Harold waited for her to touch him, some internal concern that she'd not want him touching her or that he needed her to act first by way of consent; Harbor wasn't exactly sure.

Finch found his mind go back to after their first time together and the destruction he'd caused, the total mess he'd made; he didn't want to think about it so he took a moment to force it from his mind. Harbor's green eyes watched him the whole time with a hidden smile and just let him touch as much of her as he wanted. She liked it, those talented, calloused fingers. Harbor adored the way they set her nerves off and made her body tingle with want for the elder man. 

“Sure you don't want all your alias' to take the day off?” She tempted in a sultry voice. “Huh? Skip out and spend the day with a prostitute. I'm sure at least one of your fake names is a naughty boy.”

Finally Harold looked up at her and seemed to realize he'd gotten lost in her legs but – much to Harbor's pleasure – didn't move his hands from their teasing of her thigh. The lace at the top of her stockings was rather enticing.

He breathed out a laugh. “While I would enjoy that, and am sure some of my identities would jump at the chance to bed such a beauty, I must attend to my other identities' appearance rather than their desires.” 

Harbor pushed herself to her feet then with a show of mock upset that had Harold smirking to himself, then she bent down before him. Harold knew why, he wasn't stupid, she wanted him to have a perfect view of her generous cleavage. She let his eyes linger a moment and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, her hand cupped his cheek, then she was in his lap.

“Are you going to tell me the fake names?”

Harold didn't pause a single second. “No.”

She pouted like a hard done to child, which somehow made her emeralds _pop_ even more than they usually did. How did that face make him cave? _Maybe we should put her into interrogation,_ his mind mused, _just get her to flash a man that look and they'd spill every detail._ He hated that he'd caved but at the same time knew if he did continue to say no she'd just accept it.

Harold sighed, couldn't let her see how easy it was go get an answer out of him now could he?

“You get two guesses and only yes or no for an answer.”

Harbor perked up at that as if she'd won a prize. Truly she'd expected the answer to remain no. However, if he was going to set a game in front of her Harbor would play happy and eagerly. She wriggled a little which had her settled softly with her arms around his shoulders while Harold had one hand supporting her back and the other drawing tiny patterns along her thigh. 

“Hmm, let's see. You like birds so I'm guessing it's those for a last name.” She said to herself while Finch watched her mental process.

He couldn't quite figure out how Harbor could appear completely innocent while at the same time being entirely iniquitous; quite amazing really. Finch could feel the younger woman's warmth drift through his suit, past his skin and into his very soul, he never felt at ease around people but Harbor, she silenced all his paranoia and worry; she let him breathe easy. He'd also taken notice of the fact that – despite being sat in his lap – she placed no weight on his bad leg or hip, the raven-haired beauty took such care not to cause his injuries any harm, but she did it in such a way that Harold didn't feel pitied or as though he was fragile like glass. The twenty-two year old hadn't once asked what had caused his injuries, but he suspected she'd got a few theories, and he silently thanked her for that; maybe one day but not today.

“I know about Finch and Dove.” She said more to herself than Harold. “Something that could actually be a surname so I doubt Harold Penguin has ever popped up. Sparrow? Harold Sparrow?”

He let out a little hum in the negative. “No, last guess.”

Harbor pouted in that cute way again but didn't seem deterred. Finch suspected the pout was a learnt reaction she'd developed as a result of her chosen profession.

“Too Caribbean pirate for you?” She teased. “Yeah, maybe it's something a little more unusual. Something like quail.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Is that your guess.”

He hoped it wasn't because she'd be bloody right.

“No.” She swatted him because this was a game. “Ooh! Starling! Harold Starling? Sounds like something you'd come up with.”

For a moment he wondered if she'd looked him up, gone google-ing Harold plus random bird names until she found some scrap of tangible evidence, but he knew how unlikely that was, she'd not have felt the need. When Harbor tapped his cheek Harold realized he'd not spoken and she was developing that 'I'm right, aren't I' smile of hers.

“… Yes. Yes, Harold Starling is one of my alias'. However, it's not a very well used one.” He was giving her too much and Harold knew it. “Also, like I said, I must attend to my alias.”

“It's really not a day off.” Maybe she was right, Harold didn't really know how to have a day off anymore. “How's Smiles? You know, after you know all lost your friend?”

Finch couldn't deny he was grateful for her concern but at the same time he didn't wish to be reminded of the loss of Joss Carter or how Reese had … coped.

“It's day by day.” He told her after a moment. “Some days he's better than others but Mister Reese is a strong man both mentally and physically. He will recover eventually as we all must. He didn't want me to know but he's gone to visit her grave today.”

Such concern shone in those impossible eyes. “Have you talked to him about it? Or maybe Lion.” 

Harbor found a puzzled expression shot her way. “Lion?”

“Lionel Fusco.” Harbor rolled her eyes. “You know how I am with nicknames, Hank, he's Lion now. Live with it.”

Oh he would. When she'd started calling Bear 'Teddy Bear' he'd realized there was no hope and it was just a strangeness unique to her that wouldn't be going away any time soon.

“So?” She prompted.

“Yes, we both have and while I believe it helped it doesn't change the fact we still lost her. That Simmons-”

Harold cut himself off, because it was too hard to talk about or because he was telling her too much again Harold wasn't entirely sure. Thankfully Harbor didn't push him further, just cuddled in close to his chest to provide all the wonderful comfort she could. 

“It's okay, Hank, you don't have to talk about it. I'm sorry I brought it up. Eat another donut and then go play Mister Fake-Name.”

Hank nodded. “What do you intend to do?” He questioned in an attempt to change the subject; she let him and straightened her dress as she stood; Harold mourned the loss of her warmth. 

“I'm going to go get ready to see a client in a couple of hours. Mister Confidence has missed me apparently.”

“Ahh, Isaac MacFarlane.”

Though she paused a moment Harbor wasn't overly surprise he knew who she spoke of, he'd seen her client list and all their nicknames. Shame Farrow hadn't been in the list back then.

“Yeah, and a few hours after him I've got a new guy. I say new, it's been about three months now.”

She bent similarly to how she had before and kissed him then wiped the little smudge of lipstick away with her thumb; she'd been tempted to leave it.

“Have a good day at work, honey.” She grinned jovially.

Then she was walking away and Harold would have been lying if he'd said he didn't admire the way her dress clung to her backside; he wasn't ogling her … he didn't think. He was more focused on  _the way_ she left, confident like she belonged, she wasn't ashamed of who she was, what she did for a living. While she didn't like the looks of disgust many gave her when they figured out she was a whore Harbor didn't let it hold her back. In that respect Harold greatly admired Harbor Caldwell.

She flashed him one more smile before she faded out of view and he found it infectious; or maybe it was the sugar rush. Still, he couldn't sit there with Bear eating a box of donuts to himself all day, he had to go to the office and be Harold Wren. In a way – Finch supposed – he was the same as Harbor, pretending to be something he wasn't in order to give others what they expected or wanted, and what people expected of Harold Wren was a middle-aged, technophobe who preferred to just keep his head down and work; so that was who they got and that was how Harold liked it.

XXXX

The dress from S03E14 that Shaw wears to the museum


	12. Texting A Whore

He'd been playing Harold Wren for a good six hours and yet still hadn't heard from Reese; of course he'd expected that but it didn't stop Finch worrying about the ex-agent. Shaw had, however, texted him a couple of hours earlier to let Harold know where Reese was, still at the cemetery also as expected. 

Finch longed to bring Carter back, to find something to make everything better, but there wasn't any making it better. There wasn't a salve or a bandage he could put on Reese's damaged heart, all he could do was be there. Harold had tried his best. He'd buried Rick Dillinger, he didn't want to have to bury another partner. Not one that had become so much to him. For a long time Nathan had been his only friend, the only one Harold even remotely trusted but Reese? John Reese was Harold's best friend in ways Nathan never had been and he honestly couldn't bear the thought of losing him.

Finch found himself tugged out of his thoughts by his assistant, Adrianna, stood at the door to dutifully question whether he needed anything or not before she took her lunch break. The answer, of course, was a gentle but polite 'no' and Harold went back to work. Blue-eyes scanned through the pages of documents set out on his glass desk. How much easier his day would have been if he just plugged in the computer but no, Finch was the computers guy, Wren couldn't stand the things; wasn't good with them. 

The middle-aged man sighed. His work was tedious and he thanked any God who'd listen that he didn't have to really do it for a living. Still, it was work that needed to get done. Harold Wren cared about his work, put all his time and effort into it, and Harold Finch cared about making his alias seem real.

“Ah, damnit!” He grumbled when his fountain pen blew up without warning to promptly stain everything from his fingers to his desk in black.

Finch reached for the intercom box then only to realize Adrianna had gone to lunch, a quick look down to his watch told him she'd not be back for a good forty minutes. Harold sighed exasperatedly, he didn't care so much about his hands or desk but the countless sheets of paper he'd been working on? Really? Hands, stained. Pages, stained. His general him, stained! 

Careful so as not to get ink anywhere else, Harold rose to his feet and limped out of his office to his assistant's desk where he knew there were wet wipes stashed away for any messy occasion; Adrianna had always been prepared. With mild uneasiness Finch bent down to grab the box from the bottom drawer then started to clean off his hands, annoyingly the ink had gotten under his fingernails and probably wouldn't come out until they got a good scrub later; until then Finch had to settle for being mildly blue-black. 

It was then he noticed the sound of heels, a familiar sound of heels. How Harold had managed to match the sound of those heels to Harbor rather than any other woman he wasn't entirely sure; maybe it was his paranoid nature? Pale blue orbs flashed up and sure enough there was Harbor strutting through the main office looking stunning. Her dress was white with a thick black pattern over it like spider webs all on top of one another, and sleeveless but didn't reveal any of her cleavage; something that made her all the more enticing. Then there were the high, black corset heels that had drawn his attention to her to begin with. He couldn't help pausing on how tightly the dress clung to her, somehow showed off everything and nothing all at the same time. Harold knew any man who found her in their lap would feel like a kid on Christmas morning waiting to open their present. 

For a moment Finch found a wave of anger and irritation wash over him, she'd followed him _again!_ Harbor had promised she wouldn't, they'd had this whole conversation. It had to stop! Then his mind ground to a halt when he saw the extreme look of surprise on her beautiful face. No lipstick, she was working. Blue eyes flicked to someone new then, one of his fellow underwriters – Malcolm Olsen – had practically raced out of his office, which was directly opposite Harold's, and launched towards Harbor. He watched Mister Olsen press a hand to Harbor's lower back so he could guide her into his office as she did her best to keep her surprise off her face. The sound of her heels echoed again. All the way into Olsen's office Harbor kept those stunning green-eyes on Harold. 

Finch just stood there froze, hands half way through cleaning themselves off. Once she'd passed him her head turned to keep watch like Harold would vanish, be a trick of the light. No, Harbor hadn't followed him, she was certainly working just like she'd told him that morning over donuts at The Library. And, if anyone he worked with at Universal Heritage Insurance was going to hire an escort for his lunch break then it was only going to be Malcolm Olsen. He must have been the new Client she'd spoken of. Either way it was safe to say Harold with any surname tacked on wasn't a fan. 

Across in the other office Harbor's mind ran at a mile a minute. She'd never been to Universal Heritage Insurance's offices before, never had any reason to. Harbor hadn't been seeing Malcolm – or Bumptious as her phone now knew him – had only had her meet him at his house until now. When he'd asked her to come to his office for 'lunch' she'd not thought twice about it, men like Olsen didn't care who saw them because they thought they were subtle enough to get away with it all. However, walking in to find Hank stood a few feet away covered in black ink had been the last thing Harbor had expected. Was this where one of his false identities worked? Had she not known how important Harold's fake names were to him she'd have been a little offended he'd opted to spend his morning working in an office instead of with her.

In a way it was like seeing a rare animal in the wild or a deer caught in headlights. Harold hadn't moved an inch and Harbor wouldn't have either had Olsen not guided her away. Only when he'd gotten her into his office and closed the door behind him did the escort manage to take her eyes off of Harold and focus on why she was there. She blinked rapidly as she settled herself back into her work headspace. 

“Who's your office buddy?” Harbor asked before she'd even realized her mouth had moved; something inside her was just so bloody _desperate_ to know what surname he'd decided to use.

“Hmm?” Questioned Malcolm as his eyes raked up Harbor's long, porcelain legs. “Oh that's Harold Wren, ignore him, he's good at his job but he's weird as fuck. Bit of a freak really.”

Olsen spoke dismissively as his hands started to run over her slender body. Harbor knew she should have been doing her job, Malcolm had paid for her after all, but she couldn't help glancing over her shoulder at the door even though she had no hope of seeing through the solid wood. She could admit Hank was rather odd but he certainly wasn't a freak. 

“I think he's quite cute.”

The taller man's brow furrowed half in irritation and half in disbelief. It didn't last long though because he was more interested in sloppily kissing her neck and squeezing her ass.

“You're an escort, you're paid to think that.”

Malcolm Olsen could believe what he wanted to believe, Harbor knew the truth and the truth was that, thought not conventionally handsome, Harold was handsome to _her_ ; adorable, fascinating and most certainly a better kisser.

Outside Finch saw Olsen's office door close and took a second or two to finish cleaning his hands and the bottom of his suit jacket as best he could before he retreated to his office as calmly as possible. Finch practically slammed the door closed behind him and slumped down into his chair, which wasn't a good idea because his neck quickly started to yell at him for the vibration. The twinge of pain went ignored though while he stared blankly out the large windows a while. Why had anger sparked inside him when she'd gone into Olsen's office? Why?

The slightly ink stained man didn't let himself get distracted from his work for long though, not by Harbor, not again. So he forced himself to keep at his work, cleaned off the ink, re-filled his fountain pen and got back to it. Carried on. Finch couldn't get weighted down by a coincidence and strange 'you have no right to touch her' feelings. No! They could all go away.

A half hour later he was begging The Machine for a Number. Harold was bored, it couldn't be denied he made a good underwriter but even though he did it all without the aid of a computer it still didn't take him all that long. When his phone suddenly buzzed he longed for a Number even though he knew it couldn't be. Instead he still got a distraction. 

Harbor. Not The Machine, or Reese or Shaw or even Root, no, his text was from Harbor. His eyes glanced over the short text as he sighed. He liked that she typed in full sentences, so many people her age didn't and instead just sent something that was half unreadable to anyone but the original sender.

_Harbor: I'm sorry, Hank. I honestly didn't know you were there._

Did she think he was angry with her? He had been at first, yes, but that was before he'd realized why Harbor was really there.

_Hank: I am not upset, Harbor. Shocked, yes, but I most certainly am not angry with you. I am well aware that coincidences happen._

That got a tiny smile out of him. This girl wasn't like anyone he'd ever met before. Truly.

_Harbor: Promise?_

Harold wasn't in the habit of making promises, he usually couldn't keep them, but he could make this one and keep it.

_Hank: Yes, I promise._

Harold rolled his eyes, anything to impress a woman, a woman he'd paid well for as well. Finch hadn't ever been overly fond of Malcolm Olsen but when the man actually got his head down he could get a lot done. He texted back.

_Harbor: Tangent, but does Malcolm have a pilot licence?_

_Hank: Not unless he got it in the last fifteen minutes. I, however, do._

_Harbor: Didn't think he did. :) I bet that licence of yours isn't under Harold Wren now is it?_

_Hank: Am I becoming predictable?_

_Harbor: Maybe. Try laying off the bird names for a while. I'm sure you could make Chris P. Bacon work for you._

Harold laughed, genuinely laughed, because he was fairytale certain he could actually make such a ridiculous name work. Finch had made Rudiger Smoot so detailed he'd gotten the name a bank account. 

The tech genius' head snapped up from his phone and the lovely lady he was having a conversation with when Adrianna poked her head back in just to let him she'd returned from her lunch break. Harold polity acknowledged the younger woman in his usual unsuspecting way but was thankful when his assistant left him alone so he could return his attention fully to the whore he'd become so fond of. 

_Hank: Don't dare me, Harbor, I will win._

Was Harold Finch flirting? Yeah, yeah he was. Harbor just made it so easy for him to talk to her, like Reese but with short skirts and less digging into his past Okay, that was a disturbing mental image. His brain snapped away from it a second later when his phone buzzed again in his stained hands.

_Harbor: I don't doubt it._

_Bye, Hank. I need to go._

_Hank: Another Client?_

Finch didn't know why he'd asked, it wasn't something he needed to know, or had an real right to know. Harold wasn't jealous – of course not! - not about other men getting to touch her while he sat there covered in ink doing his alias' job. No. Something was wrong with him, had to be, he needed more sleep just like Reese had been telling him since the day they'd met. 

It took a few moments for her to text back and for a second or so he didn't think she actually would, but then, just after he's set his phone down and gone back to work, it buzzed again.

_ Harbor: No, I'm done for the day. Meeting Sameen. :) _

Harold's eyebrows shot upwards with surprise and a little horror.

_Hank: Miss Shaw? Why?_

_ Harbor: I think we're friends now. ??? I dressed her up for some gala thing you, she and Smiles went to and ever since she's been like … not murdery towards me.  _

Finch paled. A highly trained assassin and a _very_ good escort befriending one another? He shuddered to think of what they'd be capable of accomplishing as friends. However, on a different note, Harold thought this good for Miss Shaw. She needed a friend that wasn't Bear.

_ Harbor: You're scared now, aren't you? :D We're going to be TeamBadass. Go and # it, Hank, :P She's the Ivy to my Harley.  _

_She's here. Bye, Hank. Xxx_

Then his phone went silent. Harold didn't know what to make of their messages or of this budding friendship with Miss Shaw that seemed to have developed. Finch mentality filed it away in his 'to be investigated; file and finished up his work for the day. It took a little while but Harbor eventually fell away from his mind and Mister Wren finished up in his office, tidied then left.

As soon as he could Finch changed out of his stained suit and into one of his preferred perfectly tailored suit and did some quick checking on John who had finally left the cemetery. Finch had told Reese long ago that he'd respect the man's privacy but that often faded away when he was worried about his friend. Instead Reese had been back before Harold and was now – despite the late hour – playing Xiangqi with Mister Han. This was good for John, Harold decided. 

Bear had his eyes firmly locked on Harold the entire time and Harold knew Bear wanted a walk. The poor animal had been cooped up in The Library all day with only Shaw to check on him, but if she'd gone to see Harbor then Bear had probably been neglected for the day. As a result Harold made sure to give Bear an extra treat before he took him over to Central Park for an indulgently long walk. Near the Balto Statue, past the famed carousel and up towards Umpire Rock. Bear had seemed happy enough sniffing at everything and bouncing around with the other dogs. Finch smiled as he watched, seeing Bear happy made him happy. Bear appeared to have forgiven the suit clad man for leaving him alone at The Library all day.

Harold felt practically tranquil as he clipped Bear's leash back on and the pair headed through the Park. The air refreshed his skin, woke him up and kept him going; he really needed to sleep more. His phone buzzed then and Finch paused a moment to fish it out of his pocket while Bear nibbled on his tennis ball. 

_Harbor: Fancy having dinner with me? :) x_

He wondered if the faces were needed but didn't grumble. Having dinner with Harbor did sound nice though.

_ Hank: Do you have a restaurant in mind? _

A lot of men might have assumed she was just a prostitute trying to get a free meal out of a rich man but Harold knew better than that; at least now he did. For some reason Harbor just enjoyed spending time with him and him with her.

_ Harbor: Yep. Little place, quite, never that busy. I can even arrange for your waitress to be scantily clad if you'd like.  _

Finch's brow furrowed in confusion. Was it wrong his mind had gone straight to strip club?

_Harbor: I mean at my apartment. I know you're frowning right now, Hank. I'll cook. _

The furrowed brow turned into a raised eyebrow, did a complete one-eighty. He'd not been invited to dinner at someone's home in a _very_ long time. Finch couldn't even remember which name he'd been using the last time he had. Also, when he thought about it later he'd wonder if he should have been surprised that she'd known his facial reactions so well.

Harold's fingers hesitantly hovered over the keypad a moment before he managed to push his mind forwards and get them moving.

_Hank: Thank you, Harbor, I'd like that._

Finch didn't let himself go second guessing himself or his response, this girl had become his friend whether he'd planned on it or not. Harbor posed no threat, if she had then Harbor would have killed him by now or Reese would have killed her; Shaw certainly would have. The escort had been given every opportunity to cause Harold harm and she never had.

It didn't take long for a response to come through from the stunning young woman.

_Harbor: Great! :) Come by around 9. You allergic to shellfish? Or are you too private for me to know that? :)_

_Hank : Since it keeps me alive I think I can let down my privacy barrier for a moment. No, I'm not allergic to anything. Is Bear welcome? He's been cooped up all day and Mister Reese hasn't _ _returned for him. _

_Harbor: Sure! Bear is always welcome. See you at 9_


	13. Atlas' Intermission

Harbor had told Harold to be at her home at nine and she did. Harold arrived a few minutes after nine with Bear at his side and a bottle in his hand; rude to arrive empty-handed, he was old fashioned like that. Finch knocked on the door and waited a few moments only to hear those heels clack louder and louder as she approached the door which quickly found itself pulled open. Finch's eyes widened because damn was she beautiful in her short green dress what with its deep but not excessive v. She looked like she'd wrapped herself in juniper green velvet. So pretty but not as put together as during the day, still Harold thought her intoxicating. 

Harbor beamed at him and quickly pressed a kiss to his cheek once he was over the threshold.

“Hi, Hank.” She greeted in that practically lyrical tone of hers. “Hi, Teddy Bear.”

The dog let Harbor tickle his ears as Finch took his leash off but then rushed to the sofa so he could settle with his beloved elephant toy. The escort just rolled her eyes, Bear was getting predictable. When she turned back towards the elder man his brain snapped away from staring at her long, sultry legs and he thrust the wine bottle out towards her in hopes she'd not noticed him looking; he'd never ogled women before Harbor.

“Montrachet?” The escort's eyebrow's raised. “This is worth more than everything I own apart from that book, isn't it?”

Harold shrugged the comment off. “Good wine is worth spending money on.”

That got a tiny smirk out of the younger woman and Harold couldn't help counting it as a win. She invited him through to the kitchen where he noticed the table set neatly for two but sat down at the breakfast bar while Harbor went back to cooking; the thought of how domestic this all was struck him but Harold pushed it away quickly.

“How's Smiles?” She asked with her back to him as she stirred a pot; he'd got no idea what she was making but it smelt divine.

“He has responded to my attempts to contact him thankfully and appears to be the best he can be. Miss Shaw is kindly distracting him by having him assist in her inventory of the armory.”

“He'll just need time. I take it they were very close.” Came her gentle response.

Finch nodded to himself. “Not in the way you're thinking but … I think one day they could have been.” 

Harbor glanced over her shoulder then to see his eyes had grown distant, if she let him stay like that too long he'd get lost deep within his thoughts and that was the last thing she wanted.

She cleared her throat. “Hank, could you open the wine for me please? I'm almost done.”

Harold's mind snapped back to him and he flashed a smile across the kitchen at her before he rose to his feet then limped to where she'd set the bottle down. 

“Certainly. What are we having?” He inquired with genuine curiosity.

She paused a moment as she drained a pot of pasta but soon spun around to face him, those impossible emeralds sparkled surrounded by her subtle eye-liner.

“Shrimp Linguine, there's garlic bread as well and side salad.”

“You mean prawn.”

Harbor shook her head like she'd had this particular conversation before. “Nope, common misconception but no. Prawns and shrimp are different species entirely.”

Harold smirked when she turned back to finishing up dinner. He liked it when she taught him new things, even if they were stupid and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Most people probably wouldn't have believed Finch – a genius – would be taught things by a hooker but those people didn't realize Harbor was a genius as well.

Without another word he poured them each a glass of wine and set them down on the dining table that Harold assumed hadn't been used until now. He offered to help Harbor with the food but she was quick to refuse stating she was finished anyway. The pair sat down to eat and the raven-haired beauty watched intently as he took his first bite.

“You're looking at me like you're expecting me to keel over dead.” He teased as he took up his wine glass.

Harbor waved him off. “No, just I've not cooked for anyone in a long time. That and you're Mister dinner reservation.”

Harold snorted at that, a very uncharacteristic sound, but it had been the deadpan delivery. Harbor shared his dry humor for which he was grateful.

The pair chatted while they ate as they had so many times before. Turned out that cooking was a secret hobby of Harbor's and Finch wondered if this was the world's way of telling him to learn to cook or at least eat less take out; Reese could cook and now so could Harbor.

“... I had to learn. When I started working for Fowler I quickly realized I couldn't survive on instant Ramen my entire life and I couldn't exactly warrant eating take out and diner food constantly either, so I bought a cook book and taught myself as best I could.” The raven-haired beauty had another sip of wine. “There's no way I'll ever be like the fancy chefs at the restaurants and bistros you frequent, but I've not poisoned anyone so I'm doing well.” 

Harold chuckled. “I've _never_ been able to cook and never really had the drive to learn. Just about everything I eat comes from a diner or in a box that Mister Reese has brought for me.” 

The escort didn't look surprised for an instant. “That's because he knows that if he doesn't feed you he'll come into The Library one day to find you dead in your chair.”

“You make it sound as though John is babysitting me.” Harold pointed out.

She was quick to shoot back a comment. “Maybe he is.”

The pair went back to eating with that comment and soon shifted to another subject, then another and yet another one after that. Finch adored how easy it was to talk to Harbor, she kept up for the most part with his mind that constantly flitted back and forth between thoughts and theories; it was refreshing.

Soon though the thought of how domestic this whole evening was returned to him, he'd sat and eaten with Grace like this. Wine, good food, a relaxed atmosphere. Harold cursed himself, he hated how he incessantly compared the two women. How he couldn't ever get Grace out of his head when he was with Harbor; he had a good night if he could banish the thoughts to the back of his mind but he'd not got rid of them. The twenty-two year old didn't deserve that, taking second place to a woman who wasn't even in the room and thought him dead. Still, Grace was the only _real_ relationship Finch had ever had and – while he wasn't in a relationship with Harbor – Grace was the only person he had to liken whatever this was to. The tech genius cursed himself further because he was fully aware that Harbor knew he did all of this as well, saw everything his his blue-eyes. It was one thing for him to do it but quite another for the woman across from him to _know_ he did it and have to sit there anyway. It just added another layer of hating himself to the pot, he'd never meant to meet Harbor, never meant to end up seeing her for breakfast most days. Never meant to befriend her let alone sleep with her. He'd had few friends in his life and only ever loved Grace so Harold wasn't really sure how Harbor Caldwell fitted into things. _People now days would call it friends with benefits, yes?_

“Hank, are you alright?”

_Fuck!_ She'd noticed again; he shook himself mentally. “Fine, fine.” 

They finished their meals and Harbor cleared the plates away while Harold poured more wine. Didn't take long for them to end up sat on her sofa –  being banished to the floor Bear hadn't been pleased about – Harbor kicked her heels off so she could tuck her feet under herself. She looked so cosy and settled while Harold sat there stiffly, to anyone else he'd appear resistant to be there but Harbor could tell his relaxed stiffness from his uncomfortable stiffness. 

His blue-eyes flicked up to Harbor's bookshelves then, they'd been empty when he'd given her the apartment and he'd honestly not noticed them when Miss Shaw had kicked her door down. Now he took a moment to  rake his eyes over them though he saw just how many novels she'd managed to cram onto the shelves, there was even the start of a stack beside one. He'd have rolled his eyes but frankly he should have seen this coming. 

“I take it you have indulged in some more books.” He said with a soft smile.

Harbor glanced over a second before she turned her dazzling green-eyes back to the mystery man and shrugged a little.

“Oh that's nothing, as long as you don't see the inside of my DVD cupboard we're okay.”

That got a grin out of him. “My Lord, you're a geek, aren't you?”

Harbor nodded. “Guilty. I'm a Trekkie .”

Finch would have been embarrassed to admit how much Star Trek and Star Wars he, Nathan and Arthur had watched when they'd been at MIT. While he wasn't hiding a uniform in the back of his closet, Harold had desperately wanted a Tribble.

She noticed the look he was giving her and it got a questioning smile out of her. “What?”

“I'm waiting for the inevitable complaints and the stories of why your favourite character is whoever it is.”

“Oh, no complaints really.” A momentary pause. “Okay, there are a lot of complaints like have you ever noticed how much shit they make up? Seriously, someone says 'the Romulans are attacking', they all look at Data and Wesley who make some shit up about needing a pack of gum and Geordi's Visor and boom, no more Romulans.” Another pause. “Sorry, this is why you don't ask me to criticise Star Trek. Favourite character though is Data and I won't hear a bad word said about him, after Data it's Bones. I'm going to stop talking now because you're getting that glazed over look most people who listen to Trekkies get.” 

Harold pushed his glasses up his nose to hid a grin – for a second he'd been back at MIT but instead of three very bored tech guys there had been a stunning young woman sat with them. 

“You're passionate, it is to be admired.” 

“Yeah, and controlled.” She teased before having another sip of her wine.

Silence lingered then, not awkwardly just a natural pause in the conversation.

“I must admit I have been known to do the same, especially if people start talking about how much they love Daphne Du Maurier. We understood that the curtains were blue four paragraphs ago.” 

That pair found themselves laughing, joking and teasing one another rather quickly after that comment and Harold was … happy. Something he hadn't genuinely been since … he  _refused_ to start thinking of Grace again, it wasn't fair on Harbor. 

Later when Harold had once again refilled their glasses the talk of sci-fi and novels had worn down and come to a natural end and Bear had fallen asleep, for a moment his snores were the only sound to fill the room. Harold was quick though and didn't miss a beat.

“How has your work been?” He asked without any judgement whatsoever. “Any bookings for tomorrow?”

The escort flashed him that smile, the one that came with a head tilt and a sparkle of teasing; the one Finch always found infectious.

“Why?” She questioned oh so innocently. “Are you making requests?”

Finch flushed pink; she adored the way she could do that so easily.

“No, no, I was just making conversation I assure you.”

The young woman took pity on him. “I know, Hank. And yeah, I'll be seeing The Honest One at two but nothing else. It's nothing major.” She took another drink of the – frankly fantastic – wine Harold had brought with him. “I haven't decided what to wear yet though. I've got a pink dress he likes, you've seen it, but I really don't like pink. I could wear my favourite white one, it's got this lace overlay, don't know if it'll be quite _little girl_ enough for him though.”

It took him a second but Harold finally figured out she'd started musing aloud rather than continued talking to him. 

“You should wear the white one, it'll show your green-eyes off more than all pink.” He told her abruptly but it got an instant and genuine grin; a grin Harold realized he loved and adored.

“You always know just what to say, don't you.” Harold beamed with pride; within reason of course. “Speaking of work, how did your alias' day go?”

“The Numbers keep coming, today's absence of one won't be repeated for some time, I'm sure.” 

“Numbers?” Her brow furrowed.

_I'm saying too much again,_ a voice in the back of his mind muttered. 

“It's what we call the people we protect.”

The conversation went on for a while until the wine was gone and Harbor started to yawn. And why was this young woman yawning so beautiful? Her green dress had bunched up where she's settled with her feet tucked under her showing him her long legs and the way her head had gone to rest on the back of the couch reminded him of when he'd woken up on the floor with her half behind him. She'd slept the entire night on the floor because of him and not complained once.

“I should leave.” He said softly but before he could get to his feet Harbor had shuffled closer and snuggled into his side.

“You don't have to.”

He could feel her delightful warmth bleed into his body, past his suit and deep to sooth his bones. She still smelt like coconuts. Oh how his body yearned to touch her; Harold couldn't though.

“It's late and you're tired, I should go and you should sleep.”

“Yeah, but you could always wake me up.” The younger woman teased in that way of hers. 

Oh he wanted to cave but no, he insisted that he held fast.

“You need sleep.”

With that he leant in and pressed a gentle kiss to her soft lips then pushed himself to his feet so he could get his things. Despite the slumber building in her eyes she followed him to the door. Harold slipped his coat on only to be surprised when she grabbed him by his blue tie and tugged him towards her. Before Hank's mind had chance to catch up with him he'd pressed the young woman against the door and had a firm grip on her as they kissed deeply.  Finch braised himself with one hand up by her head while the other kept hold of her tiny waist.

When the urge for air  became much too strong the pair broke apart and Harold tucked his tie back into place under his gray waistcoat as longed for air filled his lungs. With another kiss he opened the door and stepped out into the hall, Bear followed and Harold quickly clipped his leash on. 

“Good evening, Harbor, Darling. Please get some sleep, you have work in the morning, remember?”

With that he was gone off into the night and Harbor was left alone. She just stood there a moment in quiet as she delighted in the memory of Hank's touch. She knew Finch didn't mean to but he'd slightly made her feel as though he didn't want to sleep with her knowing she'd be fucking a different guy the next day.

When Harold left the escort's apartment – well, technically it was _his_ apartment – he'd made fairly quick work of limping down to the elevator and then out onto the street. The sudden bang of cold night air hit him from nowhere and actually managed to startle the middle-aged man, he wasn't a big fan of snow and ice what with the limp and everything. Though he felt weighed down with dinner that his body hadn't quite finished digesting, spending his evening with young Harbor had lifted the usual Atlas-like heaviness from his shoulder; he had no doubt she'd have been able to wash away a guilty man's sins if so inclined. 

He pretty much had the street to himself as he headed for his Lincoln Town car, the hour was late and most people were asleep. He probably should have been asleep as well if the sting in his eyes was anything to go by but then something halted him halfway across the street, just stopped him dead in his tracks. The chime of a nearby payphone sounded, they were always audible no matter the time of day but this was the night when no one was around so the ringing seemed to scream and yell up and down the street. Slowly Finch approached the payphone eyeing it as he went, ever the suspicious man. Instantaneously  the weight of Atlas settled on his shoulders once more. Carefully he lifted the phone off the hook and held it up to his ear. Looked like he'd be waking John up after all, they had a  new  Number. 


	14. Favors And Rabbits

Miss Caldwell left Timothy Myers' house in Cobble Hill with a smile on her face, Timothy always made her laugh. The trip back to her apartment didn't take long and she couldn't help but stop off at her favorite food truck on the way; a little treat for her at the end of the week. Truthfully, Harbor hadn't realized just how hungry she'd been until she started to lick the sauce from her Takoyaki off her fingers in an attempt to savor what was left only a few moments after she'd actually gotten her quick meal. For a few seconds she even toyed with the idea of returning for a second helping of Takoyaki but managed to convince herself otherwise.

She stepped into her building and let the sound of her heels on the tiled floor echo down the hall as she headed for the elevator only to stop when she saw the huge 'out of order' sign hung there.

“Seriously? Guess I could have had that second plate after all.”

With a disgruntled sigh she made her way to the stairwell climbed who knew how many steps to her apartment on the fifth floor. All she'd learned by the time she got to her floor was that every other person in the building was just as pissed off about the elevator and that stairs were her new nemesis. Harbor hadn't been so pleased to see her front door in all her life, a glance down to her watch as she fished through her bag for her keys revealed the time to be bang on three o'clock.  _ Maybe I'll have a really long shower, just me, some wine and the dulcet sound of Rammstein … or  _ _ maybe  _ _ Eisbrecher for a change. _ All her thoughts and mental song playlists died though when she walked into her apartment to find Shaw sat on her couch fiddling with a Beretta with Bear at her feet, the elder woman had started to make a habit of breaking into Harbor's apartment so it wasn't overly surprising when she just closed the door softly behind her and didn't make a fuss as she set her things down. 

Their eyes locked for a moment – stunning green meeting cool brown – and Harbor had been about to ask what this little visit was all about when a gurgling noise caught her attention and her head snapped towards her kitchen just in time to see Harold leave it with a baby in his arms. The prostitute's eyes went wide and flooded with concern.

“Ah, Harbor, there you are.” Hank seemed pleased to see her as he approached but she didn't even look at him, just the baby.

“Hank, please tell me you didn't steal a baby because I am _not_ ready for kids yet.” 

The teasing went straight over Harold's head as he came closer still until Harbor wasn't more than a foot from him. Her heart melted the second she got a good look at the baby boy in Harold's arms, so adorable and tiny with bits of blond hair that stuck up everywhere.

“No.” Said Finch as he _finally_ started to explain what the fuck he was doing in her apartment with a baby that sure as hell wasn't his. “We saved him. Believe it or not this isn't the first time an infant has fallen into our care.”

_ Okay, now I have a fuckton of questions.  _

Sameen drew their attention then when she gestured to the child with her gun and spoke in that disinterested tone of hers. 

“I'm still weirded out how good with a kid he is.” 

T he ex-assassin went mostly ignored since Harbor found herself more interested in the little one. The baby grinned and reached for her as she cooed over him, obviously the baby had decided he wanted the new adult to hold him a time but Harold made no attempt to hand him over. 

“After the last child myself and Mister Reese took into our care I have realized that while we must keep the child as safe as possible, the safest place is not The Library. I do _not_ wish to repeat the infant versus  grenade incident.” 

H arbor's eyebrows shot up. “Grenade?” 

For a moment or two Finch's mouth floundered as though trying to find a way of explaining that didn't sound like he and John had nearly killed a baby. He gave up about ten seconds later though and tried to shift the conversation along a bit.

“Not important. I do, however, need to ask you for a favor.”

Somehow neither Harbor nor Shaw seemed overly convinced.

“Finch,” began the seated woman, “I think she's figured it out by now.” 

S ure enough when Harold turned his cerulean orbs back to the young escort he found that though she'd been happy to coo over the child she had indeed figured out what this 'favor' he wanted was. 

“I'm not a babysitting service, Hank.” She told him sternly. “I didn't mind taking care of Bear, I don't think anyone ever would, but you can't dump a baby on me. He should be with his parents not an assassin, a whore and a man who doesn't exist.” 

Finch sighed as the child tugged on his tie. Harbor was right – usually was – but he really needed her to do this.

“I know, but unfortunately his mother and father have been murdered.” Harbor paled at that, her eyes snapped to the child in concern. “I cannot tell you why but this boy has very special blood. People will kill him for that, they'd rather slay a child so they can keep their profits. Money is more important to these people. No one will ever suspect you have him so he's safe with you.” 

The young woman's brow furrowed. “His blood is special? How?”

“He just said he couldn't tell you.” Shaw informed her with no emotion whatsoever.

For a couple of seconds Harold seemed to mull over the idea of telling her everything and how much she needed to know if she was going to care for the boy; that was if she actually agreed of course.

“His blood is worth its weight in gold in a way Golden Blood couldn't ever hope to be.” 

The raven-haired beauty didn't understand, she knew what the words meant individually but all together made no sense to her, still, Harbor didn't complain. Green eyes looked at the expression on Finch's face and then down to the young boy who refused to release his tie. After a moment she sighed deeply and stuck her arms out towards Harold.

“Give me the baby before I change my mind. I won't ask any more questions either.”

Sudden amazement filled Harold's face, he'd honestly not expected her to agree after he'd heard her first comment. Root thrusting Bear into her care had been _very_ different from him asking her to take in an infant.

“Have you ever taken care of a baby before?” Shaw asked curiously.

Harbor just shrugged. “Bit late for that question, don't you think, Sameen? I guess though, every woman has to figure it out when they first have a kid, right?”

Ever so carefully the tech genius handed the little boy over to Harbor, the child instantly cuddled into her chest; Hank didn't blame the kid. Her heart melted, this boy was utterly perfect and so sweet; she couldn't help but smile. Maybe later she'd question how quickly and easily her mothering instinct had triggered.

Harold appeared genuinely relieved. “Thank you, Harbor.” Oh he truly meant that. “I will leave Bear with you for protection, I trust you remember his commands?”

T hat got him flashed a look that said 'dude, do you really have to ask' and Harold suddenly felt stupid. 

“I've been speaking Dutch since I was twelve, yeah, I remember.”

Shaw slipped her weapon away as she rose from the sofa and crossed the apartment to the front door, didn't seem like she wanted to be within ten feet of the kid and knowing Sameen Shaw she didn't. Neither Harold nor Harbor paid her any mind as she continued to rock the baby softly. 

For a moment Finch got lost in how  _ right _ Harbor looked with a child in her arms, all that compassion and kindness inside her left no doubt in Finch's mind that she'd make an excellent mother one day. Any child would be lucky to have Harbor Caldwell as their mother, Harold just envied whoever got to be the father because they'd get to see that heart-warming motherly smile every day. 

“He's just been changed and fed so he'll probably want a nap in a little while. I left you a book on baby care as well, it's on your coffee table. His things are behind the couch.” From the door Harbor heard Shaw mutter something which had sounded like 'good luck'. “Thank you for this, truly, Harbor. It shouldn't be long, a few days at most, Mister Reese is out in the field as we speak in an attempt to get to the bottom of this all. Fortunately Detective Fusco managed to slow our would be child killers down, at least for a short while.” 

Finch leant in and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek then smiled down at the baby for a moment then headed for the door that Shaw had already vanished through. He'd just been about to reach for the handle when her angelic voice  reached him. 

“Hey, Hank?” He turned to face her. “This little guy got a name?”

_ Ahh, yes, probably a good idea she knows that.  _ “Of course. His name is Sean.” 

And then Harbor was alone with the child. She just stood there a short while as she soaked up everything that had just happened;  this was  _ not  _ what she'd had in mind when she'd left Timothy's house.

“What were you supposed to do? Tell Hank to leave with an helpless child in his arms?” Harbor questioned herself. “Yeah, because you were letting that happen.” 

Harbor made her way further into her apartment and around the couch to see the bags Hank had been talking about all neatly lined up and waiting for her, however, they went ignored because instead she went to sit where Shaw had been not two minutes earlier. Green eyes glanced over to Bear as she cuddled the child close, Bear seemed happy enough to wander around doing his thing so Harbor left him to it. The raven-haired beauty peered down at Sean, he couldn't have been more than maybe eight or nine moths, so small and perfect. Sean really was beautiful.

She grinned. “You're going to be a little heartthrob, aren't you, Seany.”

Harbor teased as she breathed him in, he smelt of baby. Harbor hadn't ever held a child before, and Sean was so perfect. Suddenly her vocabulary had faded to nothing but perfect. The escort sat there with him cuddled close while she tried to figure out what she was going to do and how.

Harbor made a mental list so she could get it all straight for herself. The baby was in danger so it probably wasn't best to go parading Sean around Central Park but what else? Careful so as not to disturb the boy she reached for the book Hank had left on the coffee table and started to read. Sure she could have put every page into her head in about three seconds but that didn't mean she'd read it. Harbor made sure to read every single word, needed to make sure she wouldn't be the one to endanger Sean accidentally. Even reading slowly didn't take Harbor's brain all that long and soon enough the baby book had been tossed back down where she'd found it. 

Ever so carefully a kiss was placed on the top of Sean's little head and his soft blond locks. He'd fallen asleep against her chest, his little hands rested on her breast lazily. With a gentle smile she pushed herself to her feet as quietly as possible and headed to her bedroom with Bear not far behind. She lay the boy down on her soft bed then surrounded him with pillows to keep him safe before she went back for the bags Harold and Sameen had left. 

Maybe she should have been angry Finch had basically used her as a babysitting service but when she'd looked at that sweet little boy she'd realized her feelings on the subject didn't matter one iota; Sean mattered. How could she have just turned him away knowing evil people wanted to kill him, kill a child!

Harbor shoved away her thoughts of the danger Sean had found himself in for the crime of being born and turned her attention back to the bags. Inside she found everything one could imagine for taking care of an infant as well as a tiny stuffed rabbit which was only slightly larger than her palm.

“Aww, cute.” 

She smiled to herself as she crossed back to her room where she set the rabbit down beside the boy who had already drifted off.

~X~

Harold sat at his desk with his blue orbs focused on the mass of screens before him. Miss Shaw had vanished to 'handle something' while Reese continued to rush around the Manhattan streets at his usual gruff pace; everyone seemed to be in complete control of their part of saving this child.

“ _She take the baby?”_ Asked John via his earpiece as he rushed through Sugar Hill towards East Harlam.

“Yes, Mister Reese.” Replied Finch softly. “Harbor agreed to look after Sean for us. However, I did assure her this would only be for a couple of days at the very most.” 

The last thing Harold wanted was for the escort to think he saw her as little more than a place for him to dump his problems.

John chuckled in that way of his. “ _Then I'd best track down Foster, hadn't I.”_

Harold truly hoped he did, not just for Harbor but for young Sean. No one should harm a child, especially one so young and innocent; the whole concept sickened Finch. The boy's parents had already been murdered, why The Machine hadn't given them their Numbers Harold had no clue, but they'd gotten Sean's Number and Harold would _not_ let him suffer the same fate; he was eight months old for God's sake.


	15. Dumb Genius

By the time nightfall came the child had been nothing but a perfect angel for Harbor, Sean had eaten, played and not cried once. If this was how motherhood was she honestly didn't see why people complained, or maybe she'd just gotten the most well behaved child to have ever existed. 

The raven-haired beauty lay there in her bed and just watched the tiny child as he slept, Sean was utterly adorable, so tiny and cute. Silvery moonlight streamed in through her large bedroom window where it shined on his skin to give the infant an almost supernatural glow.

Harbor wasn't sure how many hours they'd spent together but she already adored the little one. She'd honestly not got any idea how anyone could ever even _think_ of harming such an innocent boy. Killing an adult was one thing but a child? 

“How could anyone ever hurt you, little one? Hmm?” She asked the silent room – save for Bear's snoring – more than Sean himself.

Harbor hadn't ever thought about having children, never had any siblings and hadn't been with Charlotte and Lydia long enough to grow attached. She'd not had a real relationship either, not really, sex wasn't a relationship or love. Harbor Caldwell had been alone for so much of her life, didn't really have friends. True she'd befriended some of the girls from Fowler's escort ring back at the hotel but ever since Harold and Reese had shut that down she'd lost touch with them. Autumn had held on the longest but she'd slipped through Harbor's fingers as well. The escort wasn't lonely, having only had one parent growing up then being alone from sixteen had taught her to be pretty resilient in all honesty. Still, laying there beside the young boy she found her eyes had been opened, it wasn't as though she suddenly craved a baby of her own any time soon, Harbor was only twenty-two after all, but the complete dismissal of the idea had faded. 

Her mind flicked back to Harold holding Sean earlier that day and it had a grin on her face in seconds. Obviously the man was good with children, something Harbor had not seen coming, and she wondered if he'd ever been a father.  _Probably not,_ responded her mind, making Grace think he'd died was one thing but she couldn't imagine him doing the same to his own son or daughter even if it was to protect them. Shame, Hank really would have made a good father. Suddenly a strange mental image hit her, what if the tech genius and the escort had a kid? Harbor laughed,  _it would take over the world._ She moved away from the silly image and back to Hank, he'd said that Sean hadn't been the first child to fall into their care. Harbor could imagine it easily enough, Hank and Reese arguing over what was best for a baby to eat, how to keep the child on a nap schedule that didn't interfere with them doing all manner of illegal shenanigans. 

At some point sleep took the young woman into slumber, a peaceful sleep which she shared with Sean. Hank and John would undoubtedly be running around the city still but Harbor had done her bit and sleep was her reward.

~X~

Finch parked his Town Car and limped into Harbor's apartment building, he winced when he saw the elevator _still_ out of order, he walked with a limp so five flights of stairs were not his friend. Still he didn't complain as he clambered up the stairs and even got a 'good afternoon' from one woman as they passed one another somewhere near the third floor. When he finally made it through to the halls on Harbor's floor he breathed out a sigh of relief and leaned against the wall a moment to ease his leg, then, when the ache had calmed down, he continued to her door. 

The bespectacled man had been up all night to watch over Mister Reese and Miss Shaw as they hunted down every single threat to Sean. Sometimes the minds of people completely confused him and sparked an urge to go back to his code where everything made sense.

Hank had promised Harbor a few days at mostly and he'd fortunately he'd managed to keep that promise thanks to Reese's hard work. 

He finally found his way to Harbor's apartment door where he knocked politely but loudly enough to be heard; at least he'd thought it was. Harold knocked again but still no answer came. He'd been about to tack her phone in case she'd gone out when a bark came from the other side. Bear! Suddenly a wave of worry and panic splashed over him. In seconds Harold started rummaging through his pockets until he found the spare key to her apartment and let himself in. Harold would worry about the ethical issues about it later. 

Bear rushed to him for tickles but clearly wasn't on alert or concerned in the least, that just made it all the stranger that Harbor still hadn't answered him; especially because Sean wasn't anywhere in sight. He limped passed the kitchen and over to the shut bedroom door, without a word he stepped inside and there – thankfully – was Sean on the bed looking clean and fresh out the bath. Harold sighed deeply in relief … and then there was a shrill scream. Finch spun around to see Harbor wrapped in a towel and nothing else as she left the bathroom. Suddenly it seemed very logical why she'd not answered the door, the shower had been running behind two closed doors, of course she'd not heard him. 

“Hank? What the hell?!”

_Ah, yes, this doesn't look good,_ his mind told him rather unhelpfully. “I'm so sorry, Harbor. I called out and knocked but you didn't answer and with Sean in your care I grew worried.” 

Like a gentleman he averted his eyes even though he'd seen her naked multiple times before; it was the least he could do after he'd barged in. In the quick glance Hank had gotten he'd seen the way her damp locks clung to her neck and shoulders, the tiny drops of water as they rolled down the slope of her breasts; beautiful.

“So you go barging in like you own the place?”

Harold's eyes widened. “Em, I-”

She cut him off with that teasing smirk of hers. “Hank, relax. I get it, kid in danger, you needn't say more. Also, fully aware you  _ do  _ own the place.” Harbor squinted questioningly then. “About that, are you sure you don't want rent?”

“Quite.” He said without a moment of thought. Hank had no need for more money. “ I  apologize for the intrusion but as I said I was worried. ” 

Harbor waved him off and instead went to Sean who lay on her bed. Harold tried, oh he really tried, not to ogle her backside and the way the gray towel clung to her but damn was she stunning. Harbor smiled down at Sean as he wiggled about in his baby towel before she went to her closet and started to dress. Hank couldn't see her behind the closet door but his eyes widened when the towel found itself thrown over the top of the door.

“Hank,” she began in that lyrical voice of hers, “would you mind finishing getting him dry and put his onesie on, please?”

Finch quickly consented and did as asked. He couldn't help but smile at the child as he wriggled around and grinned clearly happy; he'd known Harbor would be a perfect caregiver. Harold had always loved the idea of being a parent, always wanted to be a father but no, with the life he led and the danger being a parent wasn't a good idea. He'd left Grace to keep her safe, offspring never being born was the best way to keep any children he could have had safe. Then there was his father, Harold had watched his father fade away over years without being able to do a single damn thing about it, if that ever happened to him he didn't want his son or daughter to be forced to watch as helplessly as he had. And he was too old, maybe a decade ago but not now. 

“Is Sean safe now? You and Smiles save him like you saved me?” Harbor asked as she continued to dress. “Please tell me he is.”

“Yes.” Harold said assuringly. “Young Sean is safe. I never doubted he would be.” 

Lie! Since dropping the child off and that very moment he'd actually doubted Sean's safety sixteen times, all of which were a result of Miss Shaw going in all guns blazing.

“Who is going to take care of him now though?” She asked with a sense of sorrow. “You said his parents had been killed.” 

Carefully Harold pushed Sean's right arm into his onesie and closed the snaps then lifted the child into his arms to cradle and sat down on Harbor's bed. 

“His aunt, his mother's sister-in-law, adores Sean and is more than willing to take him in.”

They'd wondered why the aunt, a Missus Eliza O'Connor, hadn't been targeted but it all came clear when they'd learned she'd married into the family before being tragically widowed about a year earlier.

Harbor appeared from behind the closet door and closed it softly only to flash a smile at the tech genius.

“Good, he should be with family.” She stepped towards him with a gentle clacking of her black heels. “Could you please zip me up?” 

Harold stood quickly but realized he still held the child in his arms, seeing no other option Finch passed Sean to the escort then rounded her to zip up her pale orange dress. She chuckled then and Harold's eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Didn't see this coming.” Finch's raised eyebrows turned to a furrowed brow so Harbor took pity on him and explained. “You, me, a baby.”

He seemed calm on the outside but on the inside his blue-eyes were wide and panicked until he noticed the teasing gleam in Harbor's stunning polished emeralds.

She continued to chuckle as she rocked the small boy. “A whore and a reclusive tech genius, just imagine.”

Together Harbor and Finch gathered up Sean's things and got him ready, however, when it came time to hand the child over Harbor was reluctant. In truth Harold didn't blame her, he could fully understand that she'd have come to care for the boy.

“Could I maybe … maybe come with you? Just so I know he's safe?”

The bespectacled man thought about it a time, on the one hand it would be helpful to have a little help with Sean until he got him to his Aunt Eliza, although, Harbor wasn't a part of his and Reese's world; he'd never intended that. Still, when he looked at the way she held Sean he knew she'd not be able to sleep unless she saw Sean safe for herself. Harold had brought Sean into her life, the least he could do was let her have some peace of mind.

Eventually he nodded and that was all Harbor needed. She held him all the way down the stairs to the street leaving Harold to only bring Sean's bag of things. They didn't speak as Harold drove to the aunt's house, not an uncomfortable one, just one where they didn't feel a need to speak. Both knew in that moment all they had to talk of was Sean and Harold had probably already said too much. 

She cooed over the baby the entire way, bounced him as he giggled and wiggled his little rabbit at him as he grabbed at it. Every now and again Finch would cast a glance behind him to where she sat in the back seat with Sean in his carrier and smile; her compassion never ceased to amaze him. 

When they finally arrived Finch spotted Mister Reese stood outside with Miss Shaw not two feet away, both looked desperate for slumber. The next thing he spotted as he exited the car and rounded it to help with the child was Missus O'Connor who seemed halfway between utter joy and total panic. Soon she'd have Sean in her arms and the boy would have a normal life.

The suit clad man held the door open for Harbor like a perfect gentleman so she could get Sean out before he reached in for Sean's bag. He wasn't stupid, Finch noticed the way Reese and Shaw flashed him questioning looks for bringing Harbor along but … well, this was how it was. Thinking about it seeing an innocent looking, young girl had been caring for her nephew rather than two heavily trained killers and a standoffish man with a limp, probably provided Sean's aunt some comfort; he hopped. 

Slowly they approached the house and Missus O'Connor rushed down from her porch to Harbor and Sean. Blue eyes watched happily as Sean was handed over but Harold couldn't help seeing Harbor's reluctance – nor could John – her mothering instinct really had kicked in and Hank felt bad for her. Sure she'd get over it, wasn’t like she'd reached 'adopt the kid' level but still, he'd handed her a child to protect and then just taken it away. Harold set Sean's bag down beside Missus O'Connor.

Unbeknownst to the bespectacled man Reese had quietly shuffled towards him without a sound, but once he was close enough he leant down to the shorter man.

“You been pretending you're one big happy family, huh, _Hank_?” 

It was a stoic tease but Harold's head still snapped up so fast that it had to have hurt his neck.

“What?! There's been no pretending.”

John smirked. “Oh, so you really are a big happy family. When is the wedding?”

“Mister Reese, I'd thank you to stop now.” Replied Finch in a stern but quiet tone.

Despite Finch's clear annoyance Reese didn't stop, quite frankly he thought the shorter man needed to lighten up. 

John rolled his eyes. “Come on, Harold, we saved the kid. Everything is okay. You could have asked Zoe to watch Sean or any number of other people but you went straight to Harbor. You didn't even think about it, just picked up his stuff, told Shaw to drive and went to Harbor's apartment.”

“So?” Finch asked accusingly.

Reese sighed internally. “ _So,_ she loves you.” 

For a moment Finch's brain faltered, completely shut off like a computer performing a factory reset, then the world returned and Harold glared at his friend.

“Don't be absurd.”

“Harold,” Reese began as he raked a large hand down his face, “she's never tried to get anything about who you really are out of you, never questioned once. She took in Bear and then a baby without hesitation. You think she'd have done that for just anyone?”

Finch brushed Reese's comments off. “Harbor is a nice girl, doesn't mean she loves me.”

Reese shrugged. “No, it doesn't.” Another sigh. “But you wouldn't fight me so hard if you didn't at least have feelings for her as well. It's okay to love someone, Harold. It's okay to move on from Grace.”

At the mention of his former fiancée’s name Harold's irritation turned dark and angry. 

“Please do not bring up this subject again, Mister Reese.”

Then Hank stormed away – well, most people wouldn't have noticed the storming. When Harbor turned away from little Sean her brow furrowed to see the bespectacled man had vanished car and all. He'd not even said goodbye.

Confused the raven-haired beauty walked the short distance to Mister Reese, the whole time her eyes continued to flick about like Harold would suddenly pop up again.

“John, where did Hank go?”

Reese flashed her a look, one of mild pity. “He left … things to do, people to save.” 

Harbor paused a moment and slightly deflated and then, like it hadn't ever happened, that charming smile and sparkle in her eyes had returned. If John hadn't seen the change he'd have thought it all real.

“Oh. Well, if you tell me where I am I guess I can find my way back home.”

Reese liked this girl, she didn't push, at first he'd thought she didn't care or wasn't smart enough to figure out just how much about the government and secret organizations Harold knew, then he'd realized how intelligent Harbor really was and gotten suspicious. Harbor had been fascinated by Harold _because_ of the mysteries, _because_ he knew all those things. Reese had come to understand that she didn't push not because she didn't care, she yearned to know and would happily take any piece Finch would give her for the jigsaw that was Harold Finch, but she respected him too much to do go searching. Respect was part of the reason the gray-haired man had stopped following Harold every chance he got.

Reese no longer had a doubt in his mind, he knew he was right. This utterly beautiful, young, intelligent woman genuinely loved Harold and yet Finch wouldn't let himself move on or believe it. For a genius that guy was seriously dumb. 

“It's alright, Fusco will take us back.” Said Shaw as she appeared beside them and Reese nodded. 

The three of them headed to Detective Fusco's car without another word. Quite frankly Harbor felt a little abandoned, Reese was pissed with Harold and Shaw hadn't ever been that talkative. Reese hopped in the front seat while Shaw and Harbor got in the back only to find a disgruntled looking Fusco.

“You know I'm not a bloody cab service, right?!” Growled Lionel. “I've told you a dozen times that- _wow_!”

T he detective cut himself off when he spotted Harbor in the seat directly behind his own via the mirror. His brown eyes raked up her long legs to the simple but effective dress then back down to her ridiculously high heels. This girl looked like she could kill a man in a totally different way to the other assassins in his car. 

Harbor flashed him a smile. “Hello, Lion. Nice to finally meet you.” 

Clearly puzzled by the nickname he opened his mouth to question it before he decided he didn't care; this beauty could call him whatever she wanted. Instead he turned to Reese in the passenger seat beside him who'd been staring out the car at the houses that called the suburbs home. 

“Who's your friend?” He asked. “And why is this one a stone cold fox?”

“Aww, you're sweet, Lion.”

Sameen grimaced. “Please,  _don't_ encourage him.” 

Reese finally turned his attention back to the chubby detective. “She's Finch's girlfriend.” 

Fusco's eyes went wide in shock, Harbor's would have as well had she not thought the suit clad man was teasing.

“Yeah, pull the other one, Reese. No way Glasses landed her.” He pointed at the escort with his thumb while he laughed.

Reese paused for a split second, if he couldn't get through to his boss then maybe he could get through to Harbor instead.

“Well he did have us move her stuff into her new apartment.”

Fusco raised an eyebrow as he spun around in his chair. “That was for you?!”

Harbor nodded. “Yes, and thank you for doing that. Although, I'm not his girlfriend.”

Reese sighed internally once more,  _maybe not_ . 

“Still have sex with him though.” Sameen wiggled her eyebrows.

Though on the surface she seemed to jest Shaw actually didn't want that mental image and regretted speaking almost instantly. The young woman beside her though just smiled brightly while Shaw buried herself deeply inside inspecting her knives; the entire time Fusco kept his eyes firmly locked on Harbor.

The escort shuffled forwards in her seat. “Word of advice, Lion, never underestimate the guy with a limp.”

Completely at a loss as to what to say Fusco just started the car and drove away from suburbia. 


	16. Quirks Of The Mind

A couple of weeks went by after they'd returned Sean to his aunt and Harold had essentially run away from Reese, well more like ten days really. Harbor hadn't seen him at all in that time but it had raised less of a red flag with her than it had the ex-agent.

Harbor had just gotten her usual plate of pancakes at the diner she and Harold often frequented and had just started to drizzle syrup on it – a girl needed a treat on a special occasion – when the stool beside her at the counter shifted. Green eyes glanced up to find Finch and a smile pulled onto her face as she greeted him. He quickly returned her hello and ordered himself some tea. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure, hmm, Hank?” She teased sweetly.

“Well, it's not every day you turn twenty-three. Happy birthday.”

It had been so long ago that he'd been twenty-three and the memory truly made him feel old. Still, he brushed it away quickly.

“How did you-? Oh yeah, you know pretty much everything about everything.” 

Finch smirked. “Not quite but I appreciate the faith. Any plans?”

A waitress set his tea down then and Harold took a sip.

Harbor shrugged. “Well, I'm going to gorge myself on pancakes at the moment and then I was thinking about getting myself a new book.”

Finch was taken aback. “That's it? No party or meeting with friends. No normal young woman thing?”

Green eyes peered up at him. “Hank, you should know I don't have friends and I'm not a fan of parties if I can help it. Besides, I don't need much and since when have I of all people been _normal_?”

She had him there. Harold didn't think for a moment, just looked at her while Harbor started to eat amidst the hubbub. A twenty-three year old who didn't want the latest tech or a car or something else equally pricey just because 'everybody else has one'. In Harold's mind young people like Harbor were getting harder and harder to find. Then again, she'd been on her own since sixteen and her father had raised her on military retirement pay, she'd probably been taught from an early age to be grateful for the things she had. Suddenly so much of Harbor's personality made sense. 

He watched her eat. So dainty and Finch couldn't help but wonder if it was something she'd learnt and put on for show or if it was just a part of her. Reese's comments drifted back to him then but he pushed them away before they could take hold. Harbor Caldwell was his friend and one he'd like very much to keep.

After a pause Finch grabbed a present the size of a shoe box from his knee and set it down beside Harbor's plate. Instantly her head snapped up. He'd expected – hoped – her eyes would have lit up happily but instead they peered at him questioning; Harold's brow furrowed in confusion.

“Oh, Hank, you already gave me that books and an apartment, you don't have to keep giving me things.”

It wasn't that she was ungrateful, he realized, just that she wasn't used to people giving her things unless they wanted something in return; especially if they were men. He wasn't deterred.

“I know I don't. Worry not, I have no intention of shutting off the park so I can turn it into Happy Harbor Land.” That got that chuckle he adored so much. “However, it is your birthday and you're right, I know you don't have friends, which means I know no one is going to give you a birthday present and I won't allow that.”

Finch worried a moment that he'd made that sound as though he pitied her which he didn't, Harold just wanted to be happy. Fortunately she seemed to have understood that –  _clever girl_ , muttered his mind – and she set her cutlery down. Harbor picked up the gold wrapped gift and opened it with a smile. Inside she found it was shoe box sized for a reason. Inside wasn't just any pair of heels either, they were the most perfect pair she'd ever seen. 

“Tip Top Alta!” She somehow managed to squeal and whisper all at the same time.

“I believe you once said book and heels were your weakness. While I know little about women's shoes I must admit I like the black lace, they're quite fetching.”

Ever so carefully – like a mother with a newborn – she set the Louboutins down in their box. 

“And cost over a grand."

He furrowed his brow when he saw the smile fade.

“You said you wanted them, remember?” He said as though it was all very logical.

Harbor nodded. “Yeah, because I couldn't ever afford them and it was a little fantasy.” She turned bodily to face him. “Hank, please don't think I don't appreciate them because I do, they're beautiful and perfect and you're right I want them really, really bad, and I know you're well off but you don't have to buy me such expensive things.”

Then it clicked for the tech genius. It wasn't just the gifts. It wasn't that she'd grown up on a budget and learnt to be thankful for the things she had. This went so much deeper. Harbor didn't think she deserved or was worth such nice things. Oh that made him hurt. She had nice clothes and jewellery but in her head that wasn't for her, it was for the men she saw. Harbor still saw herself as that orphaned kid who was little more than a money maker to her foster parents; yeah, he'd figured their little game out pretty quickly. Those people had done far more damage to her than he'd imagined. Then again that was all Harold could do, imagine. His father had slowly slipped away but Harold had always been loved while Harbor had just suffered through one loss after another without anyone to help her. She'd never met her mother – probably had some deep-seated belief that she'd killed her. Her father had died before she'd really understood the world and then those monsters had decided to add her to their makeshift brothel. Hell, until Finch had met her Fowler of all people had probably taken the best care of her. 

“Harbor,” he began slowly as it all started to make sense, “you're worth treating, spoiling even.” Finch stressed that. “When I was a child my father and I didn't have much but we had enough, enough to be happy and not have to worry. Then when I grew up I spent the better part of my life making myself very, very rich. Money never made me happy though, well, unless it's buying my suits, I do love my suits.” He said in an attempt to lighten the mood. “However, my point is I understand that money isn't everything, and I understand that to people with nothing it is everything. Your work, you do it because you like to help people and it's your way of doing that. You use your body to make people who feel shame, or whatever their problem is, you make it go away a while. You did that for me even without meaning to. And I think working for Derek Fowler has made you think that to most men with money your worthy of nothing unless they decide you are. That you're nothing but a pretty stand for them to drape in silk and diamonds to make themselves look better. They don't want or need you they just want to use you. That's why when you started working for yourself you were  _so_ specific about the people you saw.” Finch sighed. “Now, I know you don't see me that way but the wiring is still there. Let yourself have some fun, Harbor. They're a present for a reason. It's your birthday and I care about you enough to get you a present that  _you_ wanted.” He paused a moment or two. “Oh, and I'm not 'well off'. Pick any number you want, add nine zeros to it and you probably still won't be close to how much money I have.” 

Her brow furrowed deeper. “Wait, wait, wait, that would make you a … a billionaire. With a 'B'?”

He could see what she was doing, forcing the emotional damn inside her back down where no one – including her – could find it. Reese and Shaw, hell, even Root, would have called her out on it but Harold knew now wasn't the time to push further so he let her change the subject.

“Yes,” he nodded “with a 'B'.”

She breathed out a half-hearted laugh as her polished emeralds returned to the shoes. “These really mean nothing to you then.”

“The money for them? No. The shoes themselves do though because I new you wanted them. I knew they'd make you happy.” He sighed quietly. “I hoped they would.” 

Suddenly the speed of things changed and Harold had to remind himself he wasn't under attack when, in an instant, Harbor was up on her feet and had her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. She was pressed against him, it wasn't sultry or seductive, just straight up thanks and joy. 

Harold smiled to himself as he rested his hands on her slender hips. Harbor wasn't quite right in the head, a little warped in places and understanding, but then again, so was he, so was Reese and Shaw. Detective Fusco had been a corrupt cop at one point, Carter had taken things into her own hands eventually and Root was … Root. In a weird way Harold supposed Bear was the only normal one amongst them and he was a dog. 

As he hugged her Finch realized Reese had been right, he did care about Harbor, but they were friends, that was all Harbor and Harold were to one another, friends! They hadn't slept together recently, didn't go on dates or call one another. She _didn't_ love him. They were just friends, one of his precious few.

“Can we move on now?” He asked gently. “Are you accepting the shoes?”

“Unless you want to wear them.” She teased against his ear.

Oh the mental image alone made him shudder. “Even if my leg would allow it, I think the answer would still be a resound no. “

Harbor separated from the hug to watch him a moment then closed the lid on the shoe box and went back to her food like they hadn't just had a strange version of a heart-to-heart. Finch and Harbor did denial quite well – but of course he'd deny that. Finch was fully aware that Harbor compartmentalized far too well. She'd shoved all her worries and concerns from a few moments ago and inside, split them all up into little boxes where they made sense to her and locked them away. Just another quirk of how her brain was wired. As long as she didn't start dividing people into 'all good' and 'all bad' Harold thought they'd be alright. He's seen one of her weaknesses, one of her vulnerabilities. 

Harbor rested her hand atop his then and his mind returned to the diner.

“So?”

“Sorry, what?” He hoped she'd not been speaking too long; would have seemed rude.

“Do you want to come book shopping with me?”

Oh that did sound nice but he couldn't.

“I'm sorry Harbor, no.” The birthday girl deflated. “I have work that is rather pressing.”

She nodded. “Ahh, you, Smiles and Badass are off to save the day.”

“I suppose so. However, I do have a reason other than your birthday for coming.”

Harbor raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows then and clearly the remains of her pancakes were forgotten.

Harold paused a moment as he wondered if he should actually ask or not. “There's a man by the name of Luc Boucheron, a French national, who is here to negotiate a deal between his father's company and Anglo Development.” 

“Did you get his Number like you got mine?” She asked suddenly concerned.

Finch nodded. “Yes. We don't know if he's the victim or the perpetrator and he'll not be in New York very long so whatever is going to happen is going to happen soon.”

“What do you need me to do?” Said Harbor without hesitation. “If you're telling me all this then, Mister I'm a private person, needs me to help. So, tell me how to help.”

He was thankful for it but why did she always want to help him? He shuffled in closer so they'd not be overheard.

“Last night there was a fund raiser where Miss Shaw attempted to befriend and accompany him back to his penthouse. However-”

“Sameen isn't really the sultry type.” She cut him off. “Go on.”

Harold had become increasingly aware that she called Miss Shaw by her first name more often that not and wondered just how close the two women had actually gotten.

“Indeed. Anyway, it has come to our attention that he has a … shall we say predilection for expensive escorts.”

Harbor grinned. “And you came to your friendly neighborhood whore. Yeah, I see where this is going.”

“There is a hard drive in the office of his penthouse, don't ask how I know, and I need to know what's on it and why it is so important. Security is too tight for Mister Reese and Miss Shaw to get it and he's already seen Miss Shaw, of course.”

“And Smiles isn't his type.”

“Regrettably not, no.” Hank sighed deeply. “I am so sorry to ask an, of course, you are more than welcome to refuse, but, would you please get that hard drive? You'd just have to copy it and bring it back to me. Mister Reese and Miss Shaw will be in the hotel lobby and I'll be monitoring so you won't be alone. We have a lady by the name of Zoe Morgan who we would ask but she's informed us that they've met before and aren't on the best of terms. Also, she's a – not to sound rude – a little old for his tastes.” 

Harbor tapped a finger on her chin in a stereotypical display of thinking about it. “Seduce a guy and get into his hotel room. Hmm, sounds like a boring Thursday if you ask me.”

“Is that a yes?” He inquired hopefully.

Harbor nodded. “You saved my life, so yes, I'll help you save someone else’s.”

Harold breathed out a sigh of relief and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. “Thank you.” Blue eyes looked her up and down a moment. “You know what, I think I can make some time to go book shopping with you. It is your birthday after all.” 

There was that bold grin again. Gods, Harbor was beautiful when she smiled. 


	17. The Whore's Game

Later, after the sun had gone down, Harbor arrived at Harold's preferred safehouse. Shaw opened the re-enforced door without a single word, just a knowing smile as she closed the door behind the escort and marched after her friend though to where Harold sat amongst a mass of laptops at the dining table; Bear had curled up adorably at his feet. Clearly Reese spotted her first because he ground to a halt, Beretta in numerous pieces before him on the table. The sudden end to metal clanking got the bespectacled man to peer up from his screens; Harold fell equally as quiet. Two sets of eyes raked over Harbor, neither ogled or lusted, but they'd certainly taken notice of her dress. Black midi dress, tight with long sleeves, however, what it covered of her arms and legs the dress certainly made up for with the almost intoxicating display of her breasts. Harbor didn't scream prostitute though, elegant was more like it. 

Harold let his blue eyes fall from her chest to her slender hips and all the way down to her feet, he smirked softly to himself, she was wearing the heels he'd given her. To both Shaw and Reese, they were just shoes but Finch couldn't get over the slight … _claim_ they gave him to her. Oh, wasn't that a sentence that needed unpacking. 

Sameen folded her arms in front of her chest and rolled her eyes. “Put your tongues away boys.” 

The girls shared a smirk. “I take it I pass the 'does she look like a high-class escort' test.”

The two men snapped out of it as subtly as they could, but it had been so obvious that astronauts had probably taken notice. Reese had darkened into Mister tall, dark and smouldering which had been sexy in a gruff sort of way, while Hank had been half open mouthed. Harbor doubted Sameen would have understood why that was sexy but Sameen didn't need – or want – to know. That look meant his brain had shut off long enough to make his mask fall and his mind was too focused on what his talented fingers could do to her; and Harbor knew  _exactly_ what those hands were capable of. 

“You sure about doing this?” Reese asked to give her a way of backing out. 

Harbor nodded; she'd do it, she wasn't scared. “I'm okay. The thing about being an escort is that they love you for everything they hate you for. Doesn't matter who you send in there, if they're not a whore they won't know that so they can't use it to their advantage.” 

Finch quickly rose to his feet then, he truly didn't like it when Harbor referred to herself as a 'whore', and grabbed a few things while he tried to focus on the task at hand. He carried over a thumb drive and an earpiece in a transparent box.

“You'll need these.” He told her softly. Reese suddenly managed to get his hands moving again and went back to assembling his Beretta. “Just copy the files onto this. We'll be able to talk to you the whole time.” 

Harbor let the elder man slip the earpiece into her right ear and secretly enjoyed the gentle caress of his calloused fingers as they brushed her hair behind her ear.

“Don't be nervous.” Offered Reese as he slid the magazine back into his weapon.

The emerald-eyed beauty cast a smile over her shoulder. “I'm not nervous, apart from coping files this is what I do most days.”

That was true. When asked a basic member of the public would have responded simply with 'have sex' when asked what they thought an escort did, but that wasn't all of it. Yes, Harbor had sex with men on a semi-permanent basis but she also told a tale, sold a story, played out a fantasy. Her job was to be the epitome of desire; Aphrodite personified. If a client wanted daddy's little girl, that is what Harbor became. So no, Harbor's job wasn't just to have sex with men. In truth Harbor Caldwell was a chameleon and  _very_ fucking good at it. 

Sameen breathed out a laugh as she leant against the wall. “Girl got attitude, I like it.” 

“You're only _not_ worried because you've seen me shoot and insisted I start learning how to kill a man with his own coat.”

Harold's eyes went wide with sudden concern, or maybe it was panic. One Harbor and one Shaw was enough he didn't need two Shaws. 

“You're teaching her that?!” Finch would have been ashamed to admit it but his voice did rise a few octaves more than he'd intended. 

“Hey, she needs to know how to protect herself,” Sameen shrugged, “especially if she's screwing you. You have your own gravitational pull for danger.” 

Oh Finch hated that he couldn't really argue with Shaw because damn did he want to. The elder man also wasn't too pleased about the term 'screwing' but found it annoyingly accurate despite the vulgarity of it. 

Through the rest of the time it took them to get the raven-haired beauty prepared, Harold kept his mind firmly focused on what Shaw had said and that she was right, danger did just follow him around the same way it followed Mister Reese and Shaw herself. He'd never wanted to put Harbor in any danger but there she was dressed up for him – and not in a way he wanted – prepared to fully step over the threshold into his world. Finch had tried so many different ways to get int o  Luc Boucheron 's hotel room without alerting the guards but no, Harbor was their best bet. She'd said it herself as well, she wasn't playing a prostitute, Harbor actually was one. All she was doing was performing a little side task. Yes, that was how Harold decided to think of it; sounded safer. 

Slowly they repeated everything for her, liked to get it all a hundred percent straight in their minds.  Once it was Harbor crouched to tickle Bear's ears then pressed a gentle kiss to Harold's cheek.

I t was show time. 

~X~

When they arrived at the large hotel Harbor had gone directly to the bar while Shaw had taken up a position in the lobby to watch the main entrance, the elevators and have a fair view of Harbor. Reese though, he needed to be close so sat himself at the opposite end of the long marble bar and ordered a drink. Not only was Harbor an asset but John knew that if anything happened to the young woman Harold's aversion to violence might just fade away. John couldn't blame his boss, had he been in love with a woman like Harbor he'd have done just about anything to keep her safe as well. Of course John would have admitted he loved her and …  _nope! On a mission, I don't have time to think about the oblivious idiot I work for._ All John knew for sure was that if Harold kept this shit up he was going to die of old, lonely motherfucker. 

Meanwhile Harold watched via the hotel's security cameras, he could see every angle of the bar including the one that gave him a stunning view down her dress; of course Harold didn't look. Usually he'd have run things from The Library but the safehouse had been closer to the hotel and Hank had an urge to be on hand should anything go wrong. 

The Frenchman entered the bar then. Finch had quickly learnt just how partial their target was to a night cap and knew he'd been in the bar before long. His brown eyes flicked around the large room as they noticed a few women before they eventually settled on Harbor. She played it cool though and casually turned around to give him her back. 

“Oh she's good.” He told his fellow ex-agent and Harold through the comms. 

“ _What, Mister Reese? She's not done anything_.”

Reese rolled his eyes because seriously how could a genius be _this_ blind? 

“Nah, Finch, she flashed him the eye and now gave him her back. She's enticing him. Ooh, and it worked, he's on his way to you, Harbor.”

S ure enough when Harold peered at the cameras he could see the tall, enigmatic, blond as he strode through the bar and sat down on the stool to her left. Harbor had to have just set some sort of record for luring a man in. 

“What does a beautiful girl like you drink, I wonder?” Luc asked in a thick French accent. 

Slowly she turned her head towards the tall man in his expensive suit and peered at him through her long lashes that came with that trademark smile of hers, the one that could have melted even the most hardened man. She really was the sort of girl who could have turned a gay straight. She sparkled those polished emeralds at him.

“Tell you what, you guess and if you get it right I'll let you buy it for me.”

The blond man chuckled as his eyes momentarily flicked down to her chest then back up. It took only a second for him to nod.

Sameen breathed out that toneless laugh of hers while her friend continued to work. She'd got a perfect view of Harbor from her spot in the lobby, could see straight over the half wall. 

“Damn she's good. Hook, line and sinker.” A pause, momentary and hardly there. “Didn't take her for a champagne drinker though.” 

“ _That's because she isn't._ ” Said Harold through their earpieces without realizing he'd spoken. “ _Harbor favors either a Black Russian or bourbon._ ”

Reese ran a hand down his face, Harold knew her favorite drink but couldn't espy that he was in love with the woman. How deep did Harold's denial go?

“Maybe the government should start training escorts as covert operatives rather than military, it takes years to teach agents how to seduce so smoothly.” Said Reese in an attempt to move the conversation away from his inner thoughts. 

“ _Somehow I don't think assassin would be a good career move for Harbor._ ”

"Reese saw Harbor flick her earpiece off, then again, he supposed it was easier for her to work without the three of them prattling in her ear incessantly. 

“Oh don't be so defensive about your girlfriend, Harold.” Grumbled Shaw only for Harold to snap back quickly. 

“ _S_ _he's not my girlfriend, Miss Shaw._ ” 

“We could use partner if you want or Lady Friend but that's a bit old-fashioned.”

Maybe constant smashes of the obvious were what Finch needed, like when detectives sat all the photographs and evidence in front of their suspects.

“ _There is nothing between us._ ” Harold continued to insist as they all kept an eye on Harbor and Mister Boucheron. 

“ Finch, I  suspect there's not room for anything between you.” 

T hey practically heard Shaw shudder through their comm channel, or maybe it was more of a recoil in disgust. 

“Oh great, now that mental image is in my head forever.” 

“ _ Could we perhaps get-”  _

Harold's irritation got cut off when Reese slipped back into his stoic, authoritative tone that said he was working and had no time for anything else. 

“She's on the move. Yeah, heading towards the elevators.” 

Back at the safehouse Finch raised an eyebrow. “Already?”

Shaw shrugged. “Girl's quick.” 

It was then Harbor casually turned her earpiece back on so she could hear her three friends. She'd needed the silence back at the bar, Luc wasn't easily readable and the quiet had always helped. Harbor heard Sameen say something about being able to see her as Luc escorted her to the elevator bank with an arm possessively around her waist. 

Harbor had to admit she'd always had a soft spot for a man in a suit but something about Luc was off-putting. He had the perfectly styled hair, bold brown eyes,  chiseled jaw,  height nearing that of a Nodic giant and just as broad shoulders. He was everything a woman was supposed to want but Harbor couldn't shake the voice in the back of her head that said he wasn't good. Too perfect, perfect to the point of hiding something. Harold had said they didn't know if Mister Boucheron was a victim or a perpetrator but Harbor knew where she'd put her money. Escorts always made a better judged of men than anyone else did. She didn't like that self-satisfied smirk on his slightly stubbled face either. Still, despite all that Harbor was there to do a job, to help Finch, and she'd damn well do it. 

“ _ Shame you're not the concierge _ .” Harbor said through the earpiece quietly and it got a questioning hum from Luc that she managed to shrug off. 

Harold, however, didn't. He'd gone straight back to the day they'd met.

Boucheron didn't really seem to care that Harbor had spoken since he was far more focused on kissing down her neck the second the elevator doors had rolled shut. She'd let him push her up against the mirrored wall and rolled her eyes when he just slammed the penthouse button with his elbow. Harbor let him do as he pleased, this was her world, what she did for a living, he wanted to be the one to take the lead … so she allowed it. Harbor peppered little kisses along his jaw and mewed in the right places but her eyes stayed locked on the camera up in the opposite corner the whole time; wasn't like Harbor would forget Finch saw it all. 

The elevator let out a ping and the doors rolled open sooner than Harbor had imagined but she didn't drop out of character for a single second. Luc leant back and released her with a hungry smile as he took her hand and lead her towards the penthouse door. 

“Mister Reese, Miss Shaw _,_ ” began Finch “ _Harbor is now at the penthouse door._ ” 

Both quickly acknowledged the information while Harbor stayed quiet.

Two guards stood outside the large, black, penthouse door. The taller one looked burly and unfriendly while the other seemed dead on the inside.

“ _What sort of developer has armed guards stationed outside his hotel door_?” Harold mused to himself; he'd been trying to figure that out since he'd learned of the guards. 

Harbor put on a confident smile and shuffled closer to Luc. “Thought you said you were in development.” She said to try and get an answer for the tech genius. “You need guards for that?” 

Reese, Shaw and certainly Harold noticed the little chuckle she gave to make it sound as though the subject wasn't overly important to her. However, instead of the information she'd – they'd – wanted all Harbor got was a handsy French guy squeezing her ass. Harold hated seeing her manhandled. 

“Do if you're naughty.” Boucheron finally replied.

She made sure to grin like she cared for his attempts at humor and wasn't put on edge my his mere presence. Harbor pressed herself against him as she ignored the two guards so Luc could feel all of her. 

“Ahh,” she smirked, “you're a bad boy. I like that.”

The French asshole yanked her by the hand towards his door but his guards stopped him before he could get there.

“You'll have to hand over your cellphone, Miss.” The taller one ordered. "And let us check your bag." 

Luc sighed and when Harbor didn't instantly obey he gestured at her to hurry the hell up.  _Yeah, perfect gentleman_ , her mind grumbled. Harbor was reluctant but this was the only way she'd get inside the penthouse, the only way she'd get to what she needed, so she fished it out of her small clutch bag and handed it over then she flashed them the inside of her bag so they could see it was just boring old make up and 'girl crap'. The guard with the dead eyes took a step towards her. 

"Need to check you for weapons." 

Harbor laughed incredulously. "Seriously?" She held her arms out to show off her outfit. "In this dress where the hell do you think I'm going to hide a gun? I couldn't hide a breath mint." 

Luc glared at his guards then and the two men realized that not only was the boss getting irritated but Harbor indeed couldn't have hidden a gun, a knife or anything else in such a tight dress. They backed down.   


As soon as she stepped through the door Harold lost sight of Harbor on the cameras, there weren't any in the penthouse although not all was lost, with her phone outside he could listen to the guards. However, he quickly decided he wasn't a fan of their conversation when the words 'slut' and 'whore'  started getting thrown about. 

“ _Harbor, since_ _your phone is out in the hall I can't listen in. I'll need you to tell me anything you see or need that's relevant. If you need help just call out. Cough_ _for me_ _if you understand.”_ Nothing, not a single sound, just deafening silence. “ _Harbor? Harbor, can you hear me?_ ”

The connection should have still been open despite her being away from her phone.

“Finch, what's happening?” Reese asked quickly when the bespectacled man started to mutter under his breath and the sound of him hitting keys became audible.

“ _Signal jammer. He's got the whole penthouse jammed. Oh, that's smart __and I don't like that I didn't see it coming_ _. We can't talk to Harbor and she can't talk to us._ ”

Shaw sighed. “So she's alone. Great job, Harold.”

“ _This is not my fault._ ”

Christ , sometimes Reese felt like a father keeping his kids from fighting. If Harold hadn't already paid him more than he could ever spend Reese would have demanded a raise.    


“Quit bickering like ten-year olds.” He all but hissed. “How do we know if she needs us?”

Then Harold was back to work doing what he did best, using that massive brain of his to solve any problem. Reese might have been a scalpel, Shaw may have been the hammer but Finch was undoubtedly the mastermind getting them where they needed to go.

“ _Em,_ _yes,_ _right, okay. I can still see the guards, they're armed and …_ _yes_ _, there's only two of them._ _N_ _o others have gone in_ _or_ _since_ _Mister Boucheron_ _took up residence_.”

“How do you know?” Sameen asked sceptically. 

“ _I simply rushed through the camera footage for the penthouse hallway._ ” A pause, tiny. “ _I trust you've been teaching Harbor well, Miss Shaw?” _

“Of course.” She answered quickly.

“ _Then Harbor will put up one hell of a fight and the guards will hear it._ ” Finch cursed; himself or the others no one quite knew. “ _If I see them move even an inch you get in the elevator and I'll bring you up to the penthouse._ ”

Reese raked a hand down his face while he continued to sit at the bar amongst the other patrons. 

“We'll take too long to get up there. Shaw and I will move to the floor directly below and hang out there.”

“Moving now.” Added Sameen in agreement. 

They'd been the ones to put Harbor in this position, they sure as hell weren't going to let anything happen to her. 


	18. Falsehoods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me, my French is very rusty.

While Finch, John and Shaw panicked outside the penthouse Harbor stood looking out at the skyline with Boucheron at her side. Manhattan truly was beautiful all lit up by street lamps and moonlight. 

Suddenly Luc grabbed her around the waist and pushed her up against the floor to ceiling window so he could press himself into her backside and kiss down her neck. She could feel his length start to harden through her tight dress and let her head fall back so he had better access to her neck. She let out a teasing hum as her eyes flicked around in search of a laptop. Luc hitched up her dress so he could get a hand under her skirt to tease her through her panties. 

“Bon garçon.” (Good boy) She purred with a grin.

Luc paused and pulled away from her a little with an eyebrow raised. 

“Cassandra, parlez-vous français?” He asked with a hidden smile. (Cassandra, do you speak French?”

Harbor nodded sweetly as she turned to face him. “Oui, je parle français.” (Yes, I speak French) 

Luc flashed her that smile then, the one most people flashed the prostitute when they realized she could do more than lay on her back or sit on her knees. 

“Clever girl.”

With a chuckle he went straight back to touching all of her and Harbor continued to let him. The glass was cold against her back when he shoved her against it again. The raven-haired beauty enjoyed a dominant man but the Frenchman seemed more focused on treating her like a Rag doll. She played along to keep him happy, placed kisses along his jaw and gripped him by the lapels. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, Luc was half way across the room saying something about getting more champagne; _une_ _petite tentation_ (little temptation) he'd called it.   


"Je peux pas résister." (I can't resist) She said with a smile. 

Harbor hadn't ever liked champagne but she let him carry on as it would give her time to locate his laptop. 

As soon as he vanished into the kitchen Harbor was off in search of her prize. Quickly she noticed an office door partially open to her right so she hurried to it and sure enough there was Luc's laptop sat waiting for her on the desk. 

“Hank, I found it.” No answer. “Hank? Harold, can you hear me?” Still nothing “Sameen? Reese?”

 _Oh this isn't good._ Didn't matter though, she had a job to do and Harbor would damn well do it. She rooted around a moment to find his external hard drive tucked into his briefcase, plugged it in and started copying everything to the thumb drive just as Finch had instructed; Harbor didn't even bother reading the file names, that was Hank's problem. 

While she waited Harbor started to go through his desk again, but every now and again glanced up to the door. She didn't want to waist what time she had left and who knew what was in those drawers. Suddenly the sound of a champagne cork popped loudly and she ground to a halt a moment only to hear  'merde' so she assumed it had probably foamed up and covered him; extra time! 

Harbor glanced out the huge window to her left to discover she could see most of Central Park from the desk, beautiful view. Carefully but quite quickly she returned her attention to the desk and its contents. Didn't take long for her to find a false bottom in the very bottom drawer inside which sat a stack of files; quite frankly a child could have found them. She opened the top one expecting some illegal activity to do with permits for building work but instead she found something much, much worse. Harbor froze in horror. She wanted to take pictures to prove this but she couldn't, the guards out front had her phone so she fell back on what she knew, her brain. Harbor went through each page at speed, didn't read a word of it just looked long enough to commit it to memory; she could write it all down later at the safehouse and read it then. 

A few moments later Luc entered his office to find Harbor sat in his desk chair with her feet up showing off her shoes and staring out at the park. He glanced around but his laptop was still shut and everything looked just as he'd left it.

“What are you doing in here, Cassandra?” He asked hiding his distrust as best he could.

“I couldn't see the park from in there and now I can. It's beautiful all lit up. You have a great view. Is that glass for me?”

Boucheron held out a glass of champagne for her to take which she did with a smile. “Oui.” (Yes)

She'd been just about to take a sip when he tugged an envelope from his inner breast pocket and dumped it down on the desk between them.

“I have no idea how much you charge but that envelope covers it, trust me.” Then he moved around his desk so he could run a tantalizing finger up her smooth leg. “Fancy shoes.” He grinned.

The escort flashed him those big green eyes. “You like? They're from a friend.”

Luc raised an eyebrow. “A friend? One with expensive taste.”

Harbor hummed as he continued to explore up her legs. “They're the best kind of friends.”

Champagne forgotten, Harbor rose to her feet and pushed him down into his desk chair so she could straddle him. She brought his own glass – with his fingers still around it – up to his lips to make him drink then shoved it behind her uncaring as to what happened to it. Luc tried to kiss her then but Harbor stopped him with a finger on his lips. 

“I don't kiss on the lips, Luc.” She informed him with a smile.

Meanwhile Harold sat in the safehose watching the guards via the cameras like a hawk. The two kept smirking and laughing as they joked about how the whore was giving their boss a good show. He'd originally thought it would have been useful to listen in on the guards but now Harold wished he couldn't. All they'd done was act as though Harbor was a piece of meat. 

The bespectacled man was fairly certain nothing had gone wrong but he still didn't like this, that she was in there having sex with a Number. Of course he knew she did this most days but that didn't mean Finch had to like it. That a man paid for her, got to tuch her while he sat there with only Bear for company. 

Reese kept yapping on in his ear about how they should have thought this plan though a little more and Shaw itched to climb onto one of the balconies and figure out a way up to the penthouse with the largest calibre weapon she could find to aim at Boucheron's head. 

Their only option was to sit tight and they did exactly that for a good half hour and then, miraculously, Harbor just came out and asked for her cellphone back calmly. The tall guard handed it over without issue.

“That was quick.”

Harbor shrugged. “Men with money usually don't last long.”

That got both men laughing, even Mister dead inside laughed. The taller one went to poke his head in and check on his boss but Luc just slammed the door in his face as Harbor climbed onto the elevator. Once the doors had rolled closed she waved up at the camera. 

“ _Harbor, Darling, can you hear us?_ ” Finch asked through the comms. 

She nodded in th affirmative. “Yeah, I hear you. Where did you go? What happened to 'I'll be here the whole time', huh?” 

The escort wasn't angry, just a little irritated that if something had gone wrong Reese and Shaw wouldn't have burst in and saved her.

“ _I believe that Mister Boucheron_ _has taken the liberty of using a single jammer in his penthouse. We were forcibly separated.”_ Informed Hank.

The elevator stopped abruptly and the doors opened to admit Reese and Sameen. Harbor smiled at Shaw as she leaned against one of the mirrored walls and Reese slammed the lobby button. 

“So how'd it go?” Asked the shorter woman.

Harbor took a calming breath. “Fine, but that man is a fucking monster.”

Reese's eyebrow shot up as he turned to face her. “You saw what was on the hard drive?”

“No,” she shook her head “I copied that like Hank said but there were files hidden in his desk … he's fucking evil, Smiles. Either of you fancy teaching me how to flay a man?”

Sameen lit up a little as though she was happy to whip the knives out and get going but a glance at Reese reminded her they were working. 

“ _Harbor, what was in those files?_ ” He made sure to keep his voice soft.

Finch knew her best, knew she wasn't quick to violence, so if she wanted to torture a man then she'd seen something horrid. She made no attempt to answer him a while just stared at the closed doors until finally she took a deep breath and answered.

“Children. He's kidnapping and selling children. Some as fake adoption services others as sex slaves.” Harbor took another calming breath as the other three took in what she'd said. “I think he's using his father's connections to do it.” 

“Why didn't you grab the files?” Sameen asked quickly and rather unhelpfully.

Harbor held her hands up to show off her dress similar to how she had with the guard. 

“Why do people think this dress is the fucking Tardis? Or does Hank just sew hidden document pouches into your clothes?” 

Finch broke in calmly. “ _Miss Shaw,_ _Harbor's photographic memory is almost beyond comprehension, don't doubt her ability to remember every single word for a second.”_ A pause, small and hardly there. _“You did memorize them, yes?”_

Harbor nodded up at the camera. “They're disgusting but yes, I put them in my head. I didn't read them but I'm reading them back now and they're like a menu. Which child is blonde with blue eyes, how much a girl is worth compared to a boy. Chance of defects. It's just wrong, Hank.”

A wave of guilt rolled over Harold, he'd asked Harbor to go into the field for him and now he was stuck with some perverts child sex list in her brain. Once it was in there it stayed, that was what Harbor always said. _What if there were photos as well,_ his mind questioned.

Finch cleared his throat. “ _Mister Reese, Miss Shaw, please bring Harbor back to the safehouse and I'll prepare a pad for her to write everything down. __Thank you for doing this, Harbor._ _”_

Reese and Shaw agreed while Harbor muttered a simple 'you're welcome' before the elevator doors opened and they stepped out to the lobby.


	19. Sometimes Silence Says More Than Words

Harbor had hated having to write down the consents of her head, every single word had been hideous and despicable. However, if she didn't make them a copy what had been the point in going to Boucheron's penthouse in the first place? She'd sat there at the safehouse dining table right beside Finch as he combed through the hard drive files she'd gotten for him while Shaw and Reese just sat patiently in a corner waiting. Finch had kindly had steaming coffee sat waiting for her when they'd returned and she'd been about to request something stronger when a waft of bourbon had reached her; damn that man knew her. With help from her adult coffee and her proximity to the suit clad genius she'd managed to get down every single word. 

They hadn't got the hard copies but they had the information and from that Harold could find everything he needed to destroy and imprison Luc Boucheron. Stop any other child suffering through this nightmare. 

The four of them had hardly spoken that evening, only the sounds of a pen scratching against paper, Hank's fingers on his laptop and the occasional loud breath from Reese punctuated the silence. If it was just their usual routine or if the discovery of a monster kept them quiet Harbor didn't know. Perhaps it didn't matter.

Eventually she'd finished and her wrist ached from writing. Harbor let the pen fall from her hand and neatly stacked the pages then pushed them towards the others that Reese and Shaw had been reading. A quick glance confirmed the hushed ire that bubbled away inside the gray-haired man. Shaw – as usual – was harder to read but Harbor knew her friend, knew if anything would get an emotional reaction out of her it was someone hurting kids. 

Hank's blue eyes flashed over to the sheets of paper soon after she'd finished and widened at their quantity. It wasn't that he was surprised by how much Harbor had managed to store in her mind so fast, no, what had those baby blues widening was the knowledge that this wasn't just a handful of children but a carefully planned organization. 'People are fucking insane' they heard Sameen mutter under her breath. 

After looking at his watch and thanking Harbor for agreeing to help them he insisted upon driving her home. She could have gotten home by herself but sitting in Harold's big, warm, Lincoln Town Car sounded rather pleasant in that moment. She'd given the ex-agents a little wave then let Harold guide her down to his sleek car almost in total silence. He held the passenger door for her like the perfect gentleman he was and then they were travelling along street after street with little more than the moon and his headlights to guide their way.

“I am so sorry you had to see all of that, Harbor.” He told her honestly after a short time; his eyes never left the road. 

Harbor sighed as she stared out the window at the dark buildings. “It's alright, Hank. I'm okay. It's just … adults killing and hurting adults I can understand, what I don't get is how people can harm children so easily.”

Finch found himself thinking about Harbor's past and supposed it had been so confusing for a teenager to find the world so suddenly violent towards her for no reason. How could a child have fathomed that?

“I honestly don't understand it myself. I won't pretend to be a superhero, I try to be a good man but I know I've done bad things, illegal things, immoral things-” 

Harbor's head snapped to him in the driver's seat. “You _are_ a good man, Hank. Please don't ever forget that.”

He felt his heart swell with happiness at that but found himself changing the subject quickly, this wasn't about him.

“Will you ever be able to forget?” He asked as they turned a corner. “Do you have any way of getting rid of what you saw?”

“I don't have a trash file, Harold.” She said in jest, a tiny smile appeared on her lips. “I can't forget it, no. I can bury it though.” Hank cocked an eyebrow. “It's like forgetting a scene in your favorite movie and then when you watch the movie again you wonder how you ever forgotit. The information is still there but it's not at the forefront of your mind. I can push it down but some things will bring it back again. Don't worry, Hank, I'm not going to be haunted by it.”

God he hoped not. Her building came into sight then and Harold parked out front easily enough. He got out and rounded the car so he could open the passenger door for her but, after a moment, when she'd still made no attempt to move he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Harbor had always brushed over it but they all knew she'd been raped while under her foster parents' care. Frankly, Harold suspected that was why she compartmentalized so well.

The world seemed to return to the raven-haired beauty then and she stepped out of the car. Even now in the darkness of night she looked beautiful in her dress and shoes; his shoes. She flashed him a smile, that stunning smile that made Harold feel like everything would be alright, that smile would have had the same effect on him even if the world had been burning all around them. In a way he thought of her as a phoenix, something pure and beautiful which had risen from ash and destruction. Was this perfection personified? 

“I'll walk you up.”

Harbor shook her head. “No, thank you, but you have things to do and don't think I haven't noticed you limping more because you've been in one position all night.” Always so perceptive. “I'll be alright, besides the elevator is still broken. Go eat because I know you haven't.”

He flashed her a smile but and nodded, he knew she needed some time alone. He closed the passenger door softly but when he turned back to Harbor she grabbed him by the tie and pulled him to her for a deep kiss. Their tongues mingled a time and, like muscle memory, Harold's hands found Harbor's inviting curves. When they finally broke apart for air she rested her forehead against his with eyes closed and he couldn't resist brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. 

“What did I do to deserve that?” The suit clad man asked to lighten the mood.

Harbor let the silence linger between them a few seconds. “Boucheron insisted on kissing me, I said I don't do that when I'm working but he didn't take no for an answer and we needed all that information so I just let him. I don't like how he tastes. I like how you taste though.” Had the situation been happier he'd have filled with an animalistic pride. “Also, I smell of champagne and fils de pute.” 

Harold just stood there a while with the prostitute in his arms, his French wasn't nearly as good as Harbor's but Hank got the message she wasn't happy loud and clear. She'd told him not to come up with her, that he didn't have to, but in that split second Harold knew he'd walk her up. He needed her to know she wasn't just a tool to be used then tossed back in the box for next time. Harbor didn't make a single complaint as they headed inside and up the stairs. Harold limped and about half way Harbor had slipped of her shoes and continued bare foot. Finch wasn't overly tall himself so he found he actually liked her without her high heels on, Harbor seemed almost tiny like he could just wrap her up and keep her safe forever. She was still taller than Sameen Shaw but not by much. 

When they reached her door she asked him to hold her shoes which he kindly did so Harbor could open the door. Once they were inside he set them neatly down on the floor beside the couch but when he looked up, mouth open to ask a question, he just found her throwing her dress off onto the floor like she hated it. The raven-haired beauty made no attempt to go and change just sat down on the sofa in her underwear; Finch found he carefully fell into the spot beside her. The younger woman easily shuffled into his lap without a single word passed between them, she wasn't making a pass at him, all she wanted was his comfort. 

Again Harold slipped his arms around her, kept the girl close for which she was grateful. She rested her head against his right shoulder while her hands absent-mindedly played with his tie; a trivial action he allowed her. They didn't speak, that wasn't needed, he just let her sit and find comfort. In truth, Harold doubted Harbor had found real safety anywhere or from anyone since her father had died.

Despite being there to provide solace he was still a man with interests and needs. Soon his blue eyes started to caress her half-naked form, black satin lingerie and stockings that would make a man beg. How could a woman be so innocent and yet so fierce all at the same time? The calloused fingers of one hand drew mindless patterns across her thigh just above the lace tops of her stockings – a voice at the back of his head demanded more but Harold silenced his id. 

Ten minutes turned into an hour, then an hour into two until eventually Harbor fell asleep in his arms just as silently as she'd been sat. It took him a moment to even notice her sudden slumber, but when he did Harold pressed a tiny kiss to the top of her head.

His leg and hip hated lifting her bridal style but he'd done it before and it wasn't as if Harbor was heavy. His pain levels could shut up just as his id had. Harold lay Harbor down on her bed and rolled her stockings down her legs then set them neatly on the bureau before he covered her over in soft gray sheets. For a moment blue orbs watched as her chest lightly rose and fell like a sleeping angel, then, oh so quietly, he removed himself from her apartment locking the door behind himself with his own key.

Finch would make certain that Luc Boucheron and everyone else who was part of his little ring of monsters paid for their crimes, that those children had justice. Harbor had gotten them the information they needed – information they'd not known they needed – and now it was up to Finch, Mister Reese and Miss Shaw to drive it home. They'd make a case so water tight that no court could go against it and he was sure his friendly ex-agents would want to personally go and get the kids. Fusco was going to have a field day with this one. 

Violence wasn't part of Harold's philosophy, or at least he didn't want it to be, but if anyone deserved to suffer and hurt he was fairly certain it should be Luc Boucheron. Harbor had been right, adults hurting and killing adults made sense, that was part of our nature, but children were innocents. Pure. Children didn't deserve such monstrous acts. 


	20. Winter Is Coming

It was two days later when the news reports of Boucheron's arrest had aired.  The crimes were listed; child trafficking, operation of a child sex ring, child cruelty and endangerment amongst other more heinous offences. Harbor had just been channel surfing while she ate her breakfast and had stumbled across the news coverage. From what she'd been able to gather there had been a public outcry at the list of charges, and rightly so, Boucheron's father Henri Boucheron – CEO of  Société de développement Boucheron – had disowned his eldest son, but the damage had been done he company's stock values were falling rapidly and the situation appeared grim. Harbor actually felt sorry for Luc's younger brother, Gaspard Boucheron, when the showed a clip of him trying to get through the company's front door, people yelling and screaming at him when he really wasn't responsible for his brother's crimes. 

Still, Harbor hadn't been able to stop the large grin that burst forth on her lips. Luc had got his comeuppance and the sun could finally shine again for those poor little souls he'd tried to destroy. Harold really did move quick and she hoped Luc Boucheron got everything the fucker deserved. Who the fuck did that to kids? What went on inside their heads? How Sameen and Reese had resisted killing the French asshole she'd never know. 

Pride welled up in her heart, a small bubble that popped and warmed her very soul. She'd helped put a stop to this. It wasn't like Harbor would suddenly go around claiming to be a hero or anything even remotely similar but she could indulge in a little pride every now and again. 

After the news report had come to an end and she'd finished her breakfast – a yogurt and granola bowl with blueberries, raspberries and an unnecessary amount of strawberries, but they were her favorite – she headed into her bedroom to get dress. She'd got a fairly early meeting with Thomas Martinez scheduled that morning at their usual hotel. Easily she brushed her hair and styled it into a resilient half-updo then dusted her eyes in neutral bronzes and browns to give herself that sun-kissed look he loved so much. It had taken her a little longer than expected to locate the dress she wanted, a wine colored halter neck, since she didn't wear it all that often but once she'd found it the dress was slipped on and her feet quickly found her shoes. Harbor stood a moment to look at herself in the mirror, she looked nice enough but a bit too business-y for her liking; then again Martinez had a serious case of Mommy Issues and clothes that lingered towards business attire seemed to go down well with him; odd then that he'd picked an escort a good twenty-five years younger than him. 

Her entire way to the hotel Harbor just stared out the taxi window at the city blocks as they rolled by, she couldn't quite get her mind off Luc Boucheron and what had happened no matter how hard she tried. True, she'd never be running around New York armed to the teeth like John or Shaw, and truer still she'd never be hacking into every device in existence like Harold. Harbor had seduced a man to distraction and committed thirty-three pages to memory in under a minute, it wasn't what people would expect but she'd managed it. The raven-haired beauty wasn't an assassin, a soldier, a cop or a tech genius billionaire, she was a whore with an oddly wired brain. Didn't mean she wasn't proud of herself even if it might have sounded a little selfish or self-occupied. 

She easily thanked the driver and casually entered the hotel, went straight to the elevators and headed up to the eighth floor. Harbor glanced down to her watch pleased to find she was on time and went to step out when the doors rolled open only to bounce directly off a much taller figure. Green eyes peered upwards with an apology on her lips but it stuttered to a stop when she found John Reese before her in his usual suit. He seemed just as surprised to see her as she was him.

The apology re-formed into a smirk. “You saving someone again, Smiles?”

Reese nodded. “Trying to.”

The two performed a strange little dance around each other so Harbor could step off the elevator and Reese could step on.

“We really are going to have to stop meeting in elevators or people will talk.” She chuckled. “I might even have to start charging you.” That got one of those nasally breathed out laughs from the elder man. “Say hi to Hank for me, would you?”

Reese nodded. “Sure thing.”

He smashed the lobby button then and the doors rolled shut, the last thing he saw from Harbor was a little wave as she headed off down the hallway. He smiled a moment at the sweet girl before Harold's voice sounded through his earpiece.

“ _Who are you talking to, Mister Reese?_ ” He asked conversationally. 

Reese's eyes darkened with mirth. “Oh, just your girlfriend. She says hi by the way.” 

“ _Harbor is there?_ ” Finch asked a little too quickly and Reese could practically hear the elder man raise a questioning eyebrow. 

“Uh-huh, and I see you've accepted she's your girlfriend.” 

T he ex-agent didn't need to be stood in The Library to tell Harold wasn't happy about the comment, John didn't care though, the sooner Finch accepted it the better in his book.

“ _Mister Reese, Harbor_ _is_ _not_ _my girlfriend and I'd kindly thank you to stop __insinuating._ ” The bespectacled man grumbled. 

Reese rolled his eyes. “Harold, we've been through this, that girl loves you.”

“ _If you'll recall we have a Number to track down._ ”

_Ah, distraction, a desperate man's last attempt to make it all disappear,_ muttered John's mind as he straightened his collar. It was obvious to  just about everyone that Harold wanted the subject changed but The Man in the Suit wasn't having it. If he had to knock Finch's head against his desk to get him to see what was right in front of him he would. 

“Relax, I got us a lead and you're watching every camera on E 84th Street. I take it she's still there?”

John stepped off the elevator and made his way out onto the street and easily vanished into the endless streams of people going this way and that. 

“ _Yes, hasn't moved an inch since I started monitoring the camera, however, we're not the only one's watching. Miss Pascal has three men watching her from across the street and they're most certainly armed._ ” 

“I'm almost there, don't worry.” He said as he rounded a corner and dodged a few people on the chaotic street. “And don't think I didn't notice you change the subject. What would be so bad about admitting you like Harbor?”

“ _I have no quarrel with admitting I am fond of her._ ” Finch tried to sound nonchalant but it came across more like a twelve year old girl denying she had a crush on the teacher. 

"But you won't say you love her or that she could love you. Harold, don't mistake being lonely for being content. This is coming from _me_. Doing the work we do, we aren't going to go out good, Finch, don't die and leave that girl thinking you didn't love her.”

Later, much later, John would question himself about why he cared so much, Finch and Harbor were grown adults and could do as they pleased. Maybe he cared because Finch was his best friend or because Harbor was one of the very few women who could ever love Harold secrets and all. Yet when he really thought about it he'd wonder if it was because he'd walked away from Jessica, he'd seen the hurt in her eyes even though he'd told himself repeatedly he hadn't. Reese didn't want Harbor to feel that as well. It was unfair even if Finch did deny it to keep the girl safe.

When the elder man spoke again his tone was highly exasperated. “Mister Reese, Harbor is a twenty-three year old woman who was essentially abused as a young teenager by her foster parents, raised herself and works as an escort-”

“So?” Reese interrupted quickly.

“So, she would have little interest beyond whatever friendship she's formed with me. Quite frankly, if she sees me as anything it is a father figure.”

Good God, Harold really was grasping at straws to come up with reasons to deny that a girl way out of his league adored him.

Reese snorted as he rounded another corner and leant against the wall so he could heep Miss Pascal in sight. He took out his phone to make it look as though he had a reason to loiter in the street. Finch had been right the men across the street who watched Miss Pascal, as she ate lunch in a café with her sister, were indeed armed. They certainly screamed Mexican drug cartel, probably Sinaloa Cartel.  _What has she gotten herself into?_

“Harold, you've had sex with her, I think you might want to adjust your view of how she sees you. You know, unless Daddy Kink is your thing.”

Miss Pascal hugged her little sister as the two said their goodbyes then headed for the subway station up on 86. Sure enough the men followed their Number down into the subway with Reese close behind.

Meanwhile Finch clicked off his earpiece for a moment and leant back in his chair at The Library with a deep sigh. Blue eyes cast down to Bear who watched him from his dog bed; still with that bloody elephant Harbor had bought him.

“Do you think she loves me, Bear?” Harold asked half-heartedly. Bear barked. “Well, what would you know, you're a dog.”

~X~

The weather had turned, gotten colder and snow had started to fall a few days previous. To children it was probably pretty and bordering on winter wonderland but to Harbor it was just annoying. She didn't hate the winter by any means but she couldn't wear her short dresses and other clothing without freezing her ass off; she'd always been more comfortable in them that jeans. However, winter had rolled around and so the thick garbs had come out to play regardless of Harbor's feelings on the matter. 

The cold season always made her work a little harder but in the end she didn't stay dressed long so it wasn't too much of an issue. Truthfully, Harbor was more concerned with Harold that her forced wardrobe changes.

When she'd written down all those files in her head he'd had dark rings around his eyes and though putting on a good show she'd known he'd not been sleeping all that much. She'd tried texting him after that night but he hadn't answered or had taken ages to come back with a response which had remained short and to the point. That had gone of for nearly two weeks. Harbor knew he had more important things to do than talk to her, saving people for one, but she couldn't help feeling as though he was distancing himself from her. The green-eyed girl had always known Harold would eventful get bored of her, after all he was a hero, a white knight, and she was a whore in the end when all things were said and done. 

She'd hoped that maybe someone or something had kept him otherwise occupied but deep down she knew a man getting rid of her when she saw one. Harbor was okay with that, she didn't like it, had enjoyed being with Harold, treasured his friendship or whatever they were, but the things he did were more important than herself and she knew it. Things were better this way.

After about twelve days she'd stopped texting him, didn't want to waste his time and clearly Harold had made his decision. She'd not seen nor spoken to him again until the snow had grown thick and she'd had to go to see Malcolm Olsen again at his office. She'd cast her eyes over at the door sorrowfully as Olsen had guided her into his own office with those large paws of his, wondered if the man was inside playing 'Mister Fake Name' as she had called it.

Her time with Malcolm didn't take long, never did, and soon he was zipping up his pants while Harbor tugged her dress back down and straightened herself before she rose from his leather couch. She grabbed her envelope of cash, slipped it inside her purse and flashed the underwriter a bold smile before making her exit. Olsen never paid her much attention once he had finished, got sleepy and wanted her to just go away; so that's what Harbor did.

The door swung shut behind her but Harbor hadn't moved, just stood there between the two offices staring at Harold Wren's door with a sense of foreboding. He probably wasn't even there, could have been in The Library, could have been playing one of the many other alias she didn't know the names of. Still, somehow Harbor found her heels click-clacked as she approached his assistant sat at her desk. She could ask, right?


	21. Letting Things Slip

She'd not planned on going up to Harold's assistant, especially not right after she'd had sex with Malcolm Olsen in the office over, but an unseen force had pushed her along with a muted sense of urgency. Soon the prostitute found herself stood before the assistant – not too much older than herself – with a cautious smile on her face.

“Hello.” She greeted the busy assistant pleasantly. “I was wondering if Mister Wren is available.”

As soon as Harold's assistant glanced up it was clear to Harbor that she'd been seen getting dragged into Olsen's office. The look on this woman's face was as if she were staring at scum, Harbor could cope though, she'd seen that look before when people figured out what she was.

“I'm sorry,” began the elder woman that clearly showed she wasn't sorry in the least, “but Mister Wren is a very busy man and wouldn't want to be disturbed.” 'by an escort' was left unsaid but Harbor heard it. 

At least she'd figured out he was actually in his office, she'd honestly not expected that. Harbor sighed, this wasn't the best time but when else was Harold going to be so close for her to talk to?

“Please?” The green-eyed beauty persisted. “Could you just say 'Hank' and if he tells you no then okay, I'll go and leave you both alone.” 

The assistant rolled her eyes as if she were a teenager being asked to take the trash out by their parents but eventually relented when Harbor made no attempt to move even an inch. Slowly she got up and walked the short distance to the office door, knocked and then poked her head in. Harbor expected the negative answer so much she could already hear it but when the assistant came back her face was coated over by surprise. 

“You can go in.” She told the escort suspiciously.

Harbor nodded her thanks before she went towards Harold's office. Her heart had soared at the fact he'd actually see her but as she stepped through the door it fell to the ground dead when she though that maybe he just wanted to make it clear he'd gotten bored of her. 

The pair just looked at one another a moment, Harbor in the middle of the room and Finch at his desk, until green eyes faltered and glanced off elsewhere as though the walls were suddenly far more interesting.

“I like your office.” She managed after a moment or two. “It's cleaner but … more bland than Malcolm's office. Less lived in.” 

Harold just continued to sit there with a pen in his hand as he regarded her. She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow when she turned her attention back to the bespectacled man, her head tilted a little to the side as well.

“That suit isn't as bespoke as your usual ones. You look practically casual.” She smiled and finally, _finally_ , Finch spoke.

“Good eye.” He lay the pen down. “Harold Wren, though very well off, doesn't quite have the same financial backing that that I do.” A moment hung between them, usually their silences were calm and gentle but this one was awkward. “I apologize for cutting off our contact-” 

Harbor quickly interrupted. “It's okay, Hank, you were bound to get bored with me eventually.” 

Finch's brow furrowed deeply as she approached his desk as if she'd be kicked out soon. He never underestimated her ability to shut his brain off but Harbor hadn't ever confused him so much.

“Bored?” Was all he managed to get out.

The twenty-three year old shrugged sadly. “Hank, I'm an escort, it's okay. I see men develop and want something else semi-often. I'm not angry or anything.”

The elder man sat there as his puzzlement grew, then his mind shot back to that day she'd left him on the street after she'd met Grace for the first time. Had she really assumed he'd get bored of her and just dismiss her presence like she was nothing? Then Finch thought about it, really thought about it, dismiss her was exactly what he'd done, that was what he'd done the entire time they'd known each other. Even when they'd had breakfast at the café he'd acted like she stopped existing once the meal was done with; he'd not seen it at the time but that was exactly how it would have appeared to Harbor. Add that to the fact he constantly dismissed people, stayed away from them on a personal level no matter what name he was using, faked his death, and what the hell else was Harbor to think?

Harold shook his head as best his neck would allow; which wasn't much. “I am _not_ bored of you, Harbor. I apologize if you feel that way, it was not my intent. Things lately have been … chaotic. Miss Groves returned and in her wake there is always consequences for others to deal with.” 

Harbor's face changed then, lit up as if she'd suddenly got some hope back. However, when she clocked the sorrowful dullness in his eyes the happiness fell again and morphed into concern. In an instant she'd rounded his desk and crouched down and moved his chair around to face her like one would a crying child.

“How bad is it? Can I help?”

The suit clad man just looked at her a time, she'd not asked what was happening or for details, just if she could help. It was usually the ones society destroyed that grew up to try and save the world. 

Harold sighed. “I fear it is quite bad, Harbor. People are likely going to die. And no, there's nothing you can do to help. Unless you can travel back in time to when I was at MIT and give me a warning.” He breathed out a laugh.

“I haven't figured time travel out just yet.” She replied in jest.

Slowly she stood and settled herself in Harold's lap, she wrapped her arms around the weary man and just cuddled him. If she couldn't do anything to help the situation maybe she could just give him some comfort. Harold let his eyes slip shut as his arms snaked around her tiny waist. How did she do that? How did Harbor just make everything seem alright with a single touch? Her hair smelt of coconut, a scent he'd come to find soothing.

After a moment she pressed a light kiss to Finch's neck as she nestled against him.

“I don't know what's happening, and I know you won't tell me but I'm not worried.”

“Why?”

“Because whatever it is has got to get through two super soldiers, a homicide detective, whoever your friend Root is and the best man I've ever met.” She told him assuredly. “You can't fail.” 

One of Harold's large hands left her waist so it could stroke though her heavenly soft hair.

“I don't know how you have so much faith in us, but I thank you for it. I'm not sure I agree that we can't fail though.” His voice remained quiet and level.

“Well, if you do then Bear will taken them down. He's a good boy like that.”

That got the elder man to smirk and he was truly grateful for it, seemed like he laughed less and less nowadays. He needed to smile. Harbor kissed him properly then and his body drove him forwards to kiss back like a thirty man who'd found an oasis. Harbor gripped his tie – a habit he'd noticed – and moved to straddle him as their lips continued to meet. Both knew it wouldn't lead to sex, they knew it, the pair just needed to kiss one another. 

Finch ran his hands up her firm thighs and over her the fabric of her dress to squeeze her ass as her hair tickled his face. So beautiful, so perfect, so … the words didn't even exist. Harbor's little mewlings though, oh they were delightful. He felt happiness surge within him. Samaritan lay forgotten and instead all Harold's big brain could cope with was Harbor Caldwell. 

“I love you.” He breathed against her ear.

The whisper was hardly there but he'd heard it and he knew she'd heard it. In an instant, jerked motion Harold pulled back from the stunning woman in his arms and his blue orbs cast away from her to the desk. Internal panic took over, screaming at him. He'd not been supposed to say that, he'd meant to keep it locked inside his head where it couldn't hurt her. Harold shouldn't have said anything, now she'd be in even more danger! He couldn't do to her what he'd done to Grace, he _couldn't_.

Harold's eyes snapped back when he felt Harbor cup his cheek and tilt his attention towards her. Her touch was so soft and kind. Finch looked at her, truly looked at her; emeralds lined subtly with black flicks, no lipstick of course since had been working. _So stunning_ , said his mind. More beautiful than Aphrodite and Andromeda combined.

Then she kissed him and it was different to how they'd kissed before, it wasn't full of passion or want, just love and it melted Harold's paranoid heart. His arms tightened around her without his brain's permission so he could hold her flush against him.

“I love you too, Harold.”

Maybe Mister Reese had been right and he had to admit his feelings for this _very_ young woman. Too young in his mind but his body and heart didn't seem to care. Harold felt unworthy of Harbor but damn did he love her. If Root was right and they were all the first to die now Samaritan was active, he needed Harbor to know he loved her; she had that right. Harold loved Grace, always would, but it seemed that hadn't stopped him falling in love with the wildly intelligent goddess in his lap.

He opened his mouth to speak but not before Harbor got one more kiss in.

“Do escorts fall in love with their clients often?” He teased, pleased when she chuckled.

“You've never been a client.” She whispered back.

That was true, he hadn't ever been a client to Harbor. She'd always been with him because she'd wanted to be not because of money; despite what he'd assumed the first time.

Their foreheads pressed together and Harold suddenly felt as though he could do anything in the world. Her smooth skin, her gemstones for eyes, her magically unique brain, all of her loved him and Harold had no idea why but he'd take it as long as he could get it.

The pair sat there for a long time without a word passing between them. For that time it was as if only Harold and Harbor existed. Then though he heard a noise outside his office and remembered the world, remembered why she'd been in the building to start with.

Finch sighed before he spoke, voice low and hesitant. “I have no right to ask but … Mister Olsen-” 

Harbor cut him off in an instant with a loving kiss. 

“No more Malcolm, Promise. There's a difference between knowing I'm an escort and having your girlfriend fuck the guy in the office across from you while you sit here working.”

Harold's eyebrows shot up. “Girlfriend?”

Reese had teased him, God had Reese teased him, about that word, slipped it into so many conversations just to annoy the elder man. Finch still thought of Grace as his fiancée though, so having a girlfriend felt wrong – especially with Samaritan coming – but … he couldn't turn those eyes away.

“I'd like to be.” She told him shyly; he'd only seen shy from her once before and he wouldn't fuck it up like last time. “I know you still love her and I don't blame you for that, but I'd like to be more than just the girl you sleep with every now and again.” 

His hand ran gently through her raven locks once more. “You've always been more than that.”

The pair kissed again, soft and loving just as before.

“I left Grace to keep her safe and everything is telling me to do the same with you but … you've already seen my world. You know Mister Reese and Miss Shaw, befriended them even, and you've aided us. You're already part of this world and I don't see you leaving it any time soon.”

Harbor just chuckled, those impossibly green eyes still on his cerulean ones.

“Is this 'reclusive billionaire' for yes, Harbor, you can be my girlfriend?”

Finch smiled, oh it felt so nice to smile, then nodded bodily. If he spoke in that moment he was likely to change his mind and rebuff her just to keep the woman in his arms safe. He always told himself and Reese that he stayed away from people to keep them safe and that was true but frankly Harold was tired of being alone. Harbor had seen his world and refused to run away, she was far braver than so many others. 

The couple ended up just sat there, Finch with his arms wrapped around her slender frame and Harbor settled against his suit clad chest. Neither man nor woman knew how long they stayed there and truthfully didn't care. Eventually though, Harbor straightened and pulled away a little so she could look at him; Harold mourned the loss of her warmth.

“I should go before your assistant starts thinking you and Malcolm share a prostitute, if she doesn't already.”

Harold breathed out a short laugh. “Let her, she can always be promoted out if needed.”

The escort stared at him a moment and Finch could practically hear the cogs turning inside her head, then it all seemed to click for her.

“You own this place, don't you.” It wasn't a question exactly, specially not when it came with her suspicious expression.

Harold shrugged as best his body was able. “Maybe. Or perhaps I just have friends in high places.” He teased mysteriously.

Harbor didn't seem impressed. “Yeah, but I suspect ninety-nine percent of those people are all called Harold and walk with a limp.”

Finch let out a hum. “Yes, maybe I am getting a little predictable with my identities' names. What was your suggestion? Chris P. Bacon?”

Harbor nodded frantically as though it were the best idea in the universe … and because he'd actually remembered.

“Uh-huh, but I think I'm liking Ben Dover better now.”

Finch rolled his eyes. “Remind me never to let you name anything.”

They kissed again before the elder man cupped her cheek so he could just _look_ at her. Oh how he adored her. All of her was beautiful but only those eyes were truly stunning; Harold's favorite bit of her. 

“I don't deserve you.” His brain let that slip without his permission, seemed it was letting a lot slip today. 

She shook her head in disagreement. “ That's my decision not yours. And who could ever turn down a man  who knows exactly which shoes a girl wants and has a military trained guard dog?”

“Bear is actually Mister Reese's dog.” He told her off-handedly.

Harbor snorted; a very unladylike noise but it got her opinion across.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that. You two are like a gay couple who have been married for fifty years when it comes to Bear.”

The tech genius raised an eyebrow, was that really how people saw himself and John when they were caring for Bear? Harold had no qualms with people thinking him gay, in fact he was a little impressed people would think him capable of managing to snag such a handsome man, no, it was the old married couple bit that gave him pause. He knew th at he and Reese had developed a sort of short hand over the years they'd been working together but Harold had though them on _friends and colleagues_ level not _old, married, guys with a dog_ level. 

Finch found himself knocked out of her thoughts when Harbor left his lap and stood before him to straighten her outfit. She bent over before him for two reasons, one; she wanted another kiss and two; so he could see straight down her dress; her teasing had turned to torment. 

“I really have to go.” Harbor lamented quietly. “Why don't you come to mine tonight, Hank?”

He smiled, Finch had been slightly unsure about the nickname to begin with but now he treasured it. No matter what he changed his name to or who he pretended to be Harold would always be Hank. 

“Are you cooking or would you like me to bring something?”

Harbor's smile darkened and turned coy. “I was thinking  _I_ could be dinner.” 

She wiggled her eyebrows at him and Harold felt his cheeks flush pink. His mind kept telling him no. he needed to stay away from her but his body and heart wouldn't let him. Harold wanted to be with Harbor. He couldn't go back to Grace, not ever, but Harbor was right there and – for some unfathomable reason – loved him. 

When he was quiet too long Harbor chuckled knowing she's short circuited him or something so filled the quiet and took pity on him. 

“You could bring Thai.”

That seemed to reboot him because Harold nodded less than a second later in that bodily way of his and set about fixing his tie in the computer screen's reflection after Harbor had crumpled it.

“Cool, I'll see you later. Just show up whenever you're done playing technophobe underwriter.” 

One more kiss and then she was gone. Had that just happened? Harold had said he loved her and not only had he not been rejected but he'd found Mister Reese had been right on the money. This utterly perfect goddess of a woman for some strange reason loved him. Harold wasn't a monk, he'd had sex since he'd faked his death and left Grace. Seen the occasional fille de joie or sat in an expensive to flirt someone into his bed for a night. He'd not had a seriously relationship … of any kind, just a friendship with John Reese. No girlfriend, no boyfriend, no nothing. Now though it seemed he had Harbor Caldwell and he loved her. Finch could go back to the ferry bombing knowing everything he did now and he'd still leave Grace, he’d always leave her if it meant she was safe. Harbor though, she was a part of his, Reese's and Shaw's world in the same way Zoe Morgan was, a secondary member of Team Machine, someone in the background always there ready to lend a hand when needed. She wasn't the innocent hearted type like Grace – and Finch hated that he still compared the two women but they were the only meaningful relationships he had.

Harbor really was the Zoe to his John.


	22. Tom Yum Goong and Casablanca

The clock had just struck six in the evening when John strutted into The Library with Bear hot on his heels to check if Harold had eaten, drunk and just generally done anything to keep himself alive since John had left him at his desk that morning. A day off was a rare thing, Shaw hadn't been seen at all, John had – for once – enjoyed the peaceful quiet but John suspected Finch had been playing alias and combing through every scrap of information he could find on Samaritan. Sometimes Reese thought Harold worse than himself. Sure enough he found Harold right where he'd left him but the man wasn't typing, just stared straight through the clear board and out the window in utter silence. 

Bear rushed passed Reese and hopped into his bed but that didn't draw Finch's attention. For a split second the ex-agent wondered if his boss and friend was dead and posed by some sick and twisted killer but then his bold eyes noted the way Harold's chest rose and fell; definitely not dead. 

“You okay there, Harold?” John asked in his usual deep voice. Harold still didn't move a muscle, clearly off in his own world. “Hey, Finch?!”

The sudden loud volume jolted the elder man out of his inner thoughts and back to the world. He turned bodily to see Reese stood not five steps away then felt Bear nuzzle into his knee for affection that the dog quickly got. When Finch realized the sun had just started to set he found himself wondering just how long he'd been sat there blankly. 

“I'm fine, thank you, Mister Reese.” Finch assured as he continued to tickle Bear's ears. “Nothing is wrong, I am fine.”

Reese wasn't dumb, far from it, he didn't fall for Harold's words for a single second. That was how John ended up stood before the bespectacled man with his arms folded and an expectant look on his face. Finch said nothing, not a single word but Reese didn't give up easily, he could wait and wait if needed and that was exactly what John did until his friend finally caved and spilt.

“I might have... told Harbor I love her.” Harold managed after a few minutes.

John's eyebrows shot up but soon a smile bloomed on his lips. “That's great, Harold. What did she say?”

Reese had been trying to get Harold to admit he loved Harbor for months without any success so this was the best news Reese could have heard. Finally Finch had come to his senses and Reese found himself genuinely happy for his employer. 

“... That she loves me as well.”

John nodded to himself even through the surprise in Harold's voice, how the man hadn't seen this sooner was a mystery.

“Yeah, we all already knew that.” Reese informed Harold as he went to grab Bear a treat. “Shaw is closer with her than you think, they talk and then Shaw talks to me.” Bear perked up at the sound of his treat box opening and quickly rushed to his other master. “I also don't suggest ever upsetting Harbor or Shaw is likely to turn you into an eunuch.”

Finch paled at the comment while Bear munched down treats with glee.

“Dear God, I hope not.”

Reese shrugged in that sad but true way of his before he flashed Finch a smile again and set the treats down much to Bear's irritation.

“Proud of you, Harold. Didn't think you had it in you to tell her.”

Harold left out that he hadn't exactly _told_ her but that it had more slipped out without his expressed permission. Reese went on a little longer about Harbor and being proud of Finch but the elder man only listened to around thirty percent of it all, he'd been too deep inside his head. Finch did, however, hear the words 'she's good for you' loud and clear. Was she good for him? She'd been there for breakfast to chit-chat about literature, Harbor had been there when they'd lost Carter and had comforted him throughout his, for lack of a better tern, mini breakdown. Thinking about it, Harbor Caldwell was good for him, he'd been smiling more often and generally felt happier in himself even after all the horrors and cruelties he'd seen. Yes, Harbor was good for him. 

“... and don't worry about the girl being in danger, Finch,” Reese assured, “whatever happens we'll deal with it and your girlfriend will be fine … especially if Sameen Shaw has taught her anything.” 

Harold started to relax about the situation then, it wasn't as though Harbor was completely incapable of defending herself and Miss Shaw was a very good teacher; the worried lingered though. Harold would do all he could to keep his green-eyed angel safe, Mister Reese appeared keen to protect her as well, and they already knew Miss Shaw's standpoint.

~X~

It was roughly nine in the evening when Harold finally showed up at Harbor's door, he had a bag of Thai in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other; he tucked said wine under his arm so he could knock then waited patiently. Didn't take her more than a few moments to answer the door and when she came into sight Harold couldn't stop the small smile which settled across his face. Sailor shorts with tiny golden buttons, small and round like a polished tear drop, as well as a red and black striped t-shirt. Hardly any make up and bare feet because Harbor wasn't putting on a show like she did for her clients, this was just her natural beauty and Harbor was all his. Her clients got Cassandra, sweet little Cassie, but Harold got the real woman underneath. He'd deal with the 'my girlfriend is a prostitute' worries later; frankly he was more concerned with the 'girlfriend' part of that sentence.

Finch took the Thai food straight through into the kitchen area with Harbor close behind him as if lured by the scent and knowing that girl she was. The sound of glass on the steel top kitchen island snapped her out of whatever Thai food heaven she'd been in and she instead made a detour to get a bottle opener for the wine. She tried to slip past him but Harold grabbed her by the hips and pulled her to him so her back was flush against his suit clad chest; practically melted into him. Harbor's head fell back on his shoulder so she could kiss his cheek; Harold honestly couldn't remember being so happy in a _very_ long time.

Finch had done a lot of thinking before Reese had found him staring out a window back at The Library. He'd talked himself out of the urge to fake his death again in an attempt to protect Harbor, wasn't like she'd fall for it anyway. Eventually Harold had come to terms with the idea. Finch couldn't follow Grace around for the rest of his life, he'd always,  _always_ , love her but he loved Harbor too and he actually had a chance be with her. It felt right. 

Harbor smiled at him, that smile she gave him when she knew he'd gotten deep inside his head. She smelt of coconuts, why did she always smell so heavenly of coconuts?

“So, honey,” she teased “how was your day?”

That got a smile out of the elder man as she left his arms to find the bottle opener.

“Well, you were right, my assistant thinks Mister Olsen and I are passing a prostitute back and forth.” He admitted. “Honestly she seemed disgusted by the whole situation.” Finch sighed a moment while Harbor uncorked the wine. “Mister Reese is also now aware of what transpired earlier today-” 

“Oh, that's why Sameen has been blowing up my phone with strange and thinly veiled threats towards you.” 

The eunuch comment of Mister Reese returned to Harold then but he tried not think about it, though his eye did twitch. Also, on a less violent note, should Harold have been concerned at how easy they found it to be domestic?

Harbor turned from the open wine bottle only to chuckle at his puzzlement.

“I think they've been waiting for this to happen.”

Finch nodded as best the pins in his neck would allow. “Mister Reese certainly has.”

Harbor hopped up onto the island beside the food and nudged him towards her with bare feet; Finch went willingly. 

“You just know they'd made a bet.”

Harold couldn't argue with that, he knew Shaw and Reese better than almost anyone else, a bet was totally the sort of thing they'd do. Although, instead of money changing hands a FN SCAR probably had. He stoped himself getting lost in his thoughts again when Harbor pressed a kiss to his forehead then went in search of bowls and chopsticks. Finch had missed such domestic moments. They'd had dinner before but she'd not been his girlfriend back then … and damn wasn't that going to take some getting used to.

“I thought we could watch Casablanca.” She told him when she returned with bowls. Finch raised a questioning eyebrow. “From what I've deduced of you I'm pretty sure you don't watch much TV but I assumed you'd like the classics.”

“To say you know nothing about me you know a lot about me.” Said the billionaire with a twitch of a smile.

The raven-haired beauty didn't miss a beat while she unpacked the bag of food and he got the wine glasses.

“I don't need to know details, my dear walking question mark, I know _you_.” 

Finch's heart warmed by that sweet comment. She'd split him into two boxes as was her compartmentalizing way. The details, the dates and names, childhood pets and occupations that people thought were what made a person. Then there was the 'him' box, the favorite colors and books, which side of the bed he preferred and how long he could last before having to point out to an idiot that the word was 'specifically' and not 'pacifically' because that was an ocean. Most people didn't seem to realize or care that knowing details about a person didn't necessarily mean one knew said person. 

Harold just had to stare at her for a few seconds. Oh how different his life would have been had he known her back at MIT.

“You honestly are the most unique woman I have  _ever_ met.” 

“Is that good or bad?”

Having poured the wine he left the glasses forgotten on the kitchen island and limped the short distance to her side where he cupped her cheek softly.

“Oh, it is most certainly a good thing, darling girl.” He cleared his throat. “Now, the food is getting cold and we can't have that.”

With their attention firmly back on their dinner but Harbor grinned when he opened the largest tub of soup he'd ever purchased.

“You brought Tom Yum Goong?”

Finch grinned at the way her face lit up. “You're not the only one who notices things.”

It had been fairly obvious to Harold very early on that Harbor adored spicy food, probably would have drunk _Tabasco_ if it had been socially acceptable or even remotely medically backed. Her favorite color was blue, she worshipped the ground Richard Kruspe walked on, had an unhealthy obsession with Alan Tudyk, would sell her liver if it meant she could touch Jeremy Renner, would kill a man before she let them put milk or cream in her coffee and despised, _despised_ , the beech. Of all the bits and pieces he's learnt about Harbor though, the fact that Tom Yum Goong was her favorite food had so far been the only useful piece of information he'd been able to pick up on. 

The pair sat down together and Harbor turned on the movie so they could eat happily together and sip their wine. Finch had almost forgotten how nice it was to just sit and be with someone, no lying about who he was because … he was her boyfriend; no matter how strange that word seemed at his time of life. Frankly 'boyfriend' would be harder to get used to than 'girlfriend' and he wasn't a hundred percent sure why.

About half way through the film she snuggled up to him, Harbor's legs tucked under herself and her head on his shoulder. Then five minutes later she was kissing at his neck and unbuckling his belt with nimble fingers. Harold gasped when she slipped her hand inside to cup his quickly hardening length. Soon her soft lips found his and the movie went on forgotten when she tugged him off towards her bedroom. 

Instead of pushing him down like she probably wanted to Harbor calmly crawled into the bed, where she made sure to give him a perfect view of her backside in those little shorts then peered at him seductively.

“Come play with me?”

Harold seriously doubted any man alive could have resisted her … well, any straight man at least. He'd seen the way she'd smiled at Malcolm Olsen, it was fake but the one she gave him was real, it reached her eyes and made them twinkle.

Harold stripped off his suit jacket and waistcoat where they fell easily to the floor. He couldn't slide onto the bed, crawl over her and pin her down, his body wouldn't allow it no matter how much he wanted to, Harbor didn't mind though. Once he'd sat down on the bed she started to pull his tie free and tossed it behind her like an after thought before she went back for his shirt buttons. When their lips locked again it became a free-for-all to get one another's clothes off. 

Somehow she ended up on her stomach with the elder man over her kissing down her porcelain back. His neck complained but Finch ignored it because it was as close to the position he'd wanted as his body was ever likely to get. Harbor pushed her backside up against his hard member and Harold groaned. Finch wasn't normally a domineering man, he didn't force others to his will if he could help it, but with Harbor he found his animalistic side came out quite happily … and she seemed to like it. With the pleasure and want having shut off his pain receptors for a while Finch gripped Harbor by the hips and tugged her up onto her knees and elbows. Gods she was perfect. His fingers found her wet heat with ease and worked her open as mews and pants escaped her. His neck, hip and leg would scream at him in the morning but Harold honestly couldn't have cared less with this goddess of a woman splayed out before him. 

“Hank, please.” She breathed. “Stop tormenting me and just fuck me.” She cried out and he clamped his jaw down on her shoulder as an inner wolf he'd not known about came out. 

Harold's fingers left her wet core but Harbor didn't have to mourn him long as he filled her suddenly with his hardened length. Christ, what had he done to deserve this woman?

The green-eyed angel panted and moaned his name beneath him, such perfect sounds that Finch would have been happy to die listening to. When he found that sweet spot Harbor gasped and bucked her hips back against him in surprise which got a needy grunt from the elder man as his thrusts shifted to something slightly more erratic.

“Harder, Harold, please, harder.”

How could he deny her as he sucked a purple bruise where he'd bitten her; Harbor's walls quivered around him at the pang of pain. That was another thing he'd noticed about her, tender and gentle was all well and good but deep down Harbor preferred sex to be something a little rougher; than was how he ended up with a hand in her hair so he could tug her backwards for a kiss. Finch continued to gently lick the new marks on her shoulder as he reached a hand under her perfect body in order to stroke her clit. She immediately gasped and her hips bucked into his touch. He rubbed and lightly pinch the little nub despite the voice at the very back of his brain screaming at him to take the weight off his bad leg and stop arching his neck. No, Harold put up with pain every single day for little more than getting a morning cup of tea, he's sure as fuck put up with it to be with Harbor. 

Finch could feel her legs trembling beneath them as they fought to keep her up; Harbor's elbows would give out soon he suspected. The large hand still tangled in her hair finally released and slipped down her milky skin so his fingers could trail over the inside of one of those perfect thighs which caused her walls to suddenly clamp down around him at the sensation and Harold could take it no longer. With a deep grunt that ended as a breathy moan his climax found him and he filled the perfect goddess beneath him. Harold's thrusts grew erratic and desperate as he desperately tried to prologue his orgasm but when Harbor's mews turned to wanton sounds of need he felt a wave of guilt wash over him. There is was having found his climax while his stunning girl still begged for her own. Not very gentlemanly.

Finch rocked up onto his haunches a moment and instantly regretted it, pain shot to a twelve on the old one to ten scale and Harbor noticed instantly because instead of moaning into the mattress she was suddenly on her knees with a hand cupping his cheek. 

“Are you alright, Hank?”

He looked at her then, once he'd shifted position, her hair was a mess where he'd pulled on it and need still sparkled in her green eyes. He adored how sweet and kind Harbor was, a truly _good_ person to prove to him they still existed despite all the horrors and atrocities he'd seen in his life. 

Harold couldn't leave her unsatisfied though, he just wouldn't. His blue orbs flicked down her smooth body, past her supple breasts, flat stomach to her wet core between those firm thighs. He longed to push her back down and ravish her but his body wasn't capable of more, not that night. An idea struck him then and one of those naughty, knowing smiles settled on his lips. Harbor eyed him suspiciously as he went to lie on his back then tugged her by the hand so she'd straddle him. Without a single word he shuffled down until he was face to face with her sex and pressed his tongue to her.

“Fuck! Harold!” She groaned.

Finch coaxed her legs open a little more with his hands while he licked her, not at all caring if a bit of his own release dripped down onto his tongue. Soon she grew close and her hips bucked so Finch wrapped his arms around her thighs to keep her still while he drew every swear word and every pant he could out of her. Harbor's orgasm hit her like a freight train when Harold pressed his lips to her wet sex and  _sucked_ . Suddenly and without warning the escort's legs gave out but Harold carefully angled her so she fell softly beside him on the bed. For a moment she didn't speak, just lay there with her eyes closed and mouth open as she sucked in much needed air. 

Harold wanted to roll onto his side but he'd not been able to sleep on his side since the bombing, instead he settled for snaking his right arm around Harbor and drew her to him; she went limply. Normally Harold hated the feeling of sweat on his skin, found it messy, uncomfortable and unhygienic but in that moment he couldn't have cared if someone had tarred and feathered him. 

His eyes snapped down to Harbor when she chuckled quietly to herself.

“Embarrassing, isn't it.” _What was? What have I done? I thought you- _“I'm an escort who completely forgot a condom. I should probably hand in my prostitute card now.” 

“I'm sorry-” Harold began, it had been just as much his fault, but Harbor cut him off as easily she had his thoughts. 

“It's okay, Hank, I'm on the pill, I'm not angry with you.” Harbor cuddled closer to his chest. “I'm an escort, Hank, sex gets boring for me sometimes, but that-” she gestured loosely to the bed area. “-that was some of the best sex I've ever had. Know why?” 

Those perfect polished emeralds flashed up at him in the dark lit only by the moonlight that snuck in through the windows. 

“No, why?”

Harbor smiled up at him softly,  so young, so beautiful, so incredibly intelligent, and somehow so totally his. 

“Because I don't love them.” The twenty-three year old stretched up to kiss him, a kiss Harold gladly accepted. “I do love you though.”

He beamed. “Fill you full of Thai food and you'll say anything, won't you.”

That got a lyrical laugh out of Harbor. “You got me.”

It didn't take long for Harbor to fall asleep in Finch's arms. As much as he wanted to drift off into slumber as well he couldn't stop himself just watching her. Her chest rose and fell softly, her cheek on his chest and a hand thrown over his stomach. Harbor was too good for him, Harold was convinced of that, he suspected she was too good for just about anyone. Still, the bespectacled genius would take whatever she was willing to give him. Maybe that was greedy, maybe not, Finch didn't know any longer and if he'd learned anything from Mister Reese it was that he needed to stop over-thinking every little thing. So Harold Finch wasn't going to think, he was just going to enjoy it for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll level with you, I'm not quite sure how that turned into porn. This was originally going in a different direction.


	23. Curses And Blessings

After roughly two weeks Harold had managed to settle the determined panic and concern which had lingered in the back of his mind when it came to being in a real relationship with Harbor Caldwell. Finch had even gone so far as to create her six separate fake identities just in case the day ever did come and he had to send her away for her own safety; Samaritan being their main threat. One of those fake names just so happened to be Nikola Kruspe, simply because he knew she'd approve of the references to two of her favorite people. Harold was paranoid, not lacking a sense of humor. If the bespectacled man was going to truly be with her then he'd give her all the bug out measures he'd provided Reese, Shaw, Fusco and even Root with. 

Speaking of Shaw, she'd waited for Harold to send John off to a Number with a classic 'go here, do this and try not to shoot anyone' task then completely blind-sided him that morning. Questions, intentions and demands which had all been quick and to the point mixed in with the odd threat every few sentences just in case Finch had somehow managed to forget Sameen killed people on an almost daily basis. It would have taken one hell of a blow to the head for hm to forget Miss Shaw's day job. While he'd not been overly pleased with Shaw sticking her nose into his and Harbor's relationship, Harold had been grateful Harbor had someone to watch her back in ways he couldn't. Shaw would keep Harbor safe, teach her to protect herself, and Harbor had really brought Shaw out of her shell; hell, she was damn right personable compared to before she'd met the escort. Sameen had needed a real friend that wasn't just a colleague or Bear. 

Harbor had done more good than she realized. Finch had also learned not to underestimate her ability to strut into a bar and get a man to spill his secrets just by fluttering her eyes and giggling in the right place. Then again Harold could speak from experience, those polished emeralds could be very hypnotic.

After Sameen had taken her own Number and finally left him alone in the Library with Bear snoring in his bed – still with that elephant – Finch had gotten back to work only to hit by a realization like a brick wall not fifteen minutes later. It should have been so obvious but Harold had completely missed it. He was happy. Not just they'd managed to save a Number happy or John hadn't had to shoot anyone happy, no this was in his heart, in his blood, in his _soul_ happy. When he'd faked his death and left Grace something inside him had died but Harbor had brought it back to life with that big smile and caring heart of hers.

“I'm a genius and I didn't even notice.” He huffed out a laugh.

By the end of the month Finch felt as though he and his girl had been together for years, Harbor just anticipated things so perfectly even when Finch himself wasn't sure what he needed. She never demanded to know why he'd gone radio silent for forty-eight hours straight, never got angry when he'd had to cancel dinner because Reese and Shaw had gotten into a shoot out and needed someone on surveillance. He had things he just couldn't tell her … she never hated him for it. John had taken to referring to Harbor as 'Harold's perfect woman' at every available opportunity just to amuse himself and truthfully Harold couldn't argue at all. She was perfect.

Then it happened, the tiny thought he'd not invited, the one that had only existed for a split second but had crushed him and left a cataclysm in its wake. _You_ _love her more than you loved Grace._ That thought had hurt, not because it had once again pitted the two women against one another but because that little whispered voice was right, he did love her more than Grace and it had somehow made him feel guilty. There Harold was happy with this young, beautiful and outrageously intelligent woman while he'd left Grace thinking the man she loved had died in a bombing. Did he even deserved to be loved and happy? Harbor kept saying yes, Reese kept saying yes, Shaw kept saying yes, hell, even Fusco had agreed, but still the voice at the back of his head persisted. 

~X~

The day eventually came when Team Machine required Harbor's unique assistance once again and, of course, she'd readily agreed to help. Charles Jones-Price or Charlie to his friends, an ivy league asshole who thought he owned everything and that everyone else was beneath him. Classic narcissist, classic Mommy never hugged me enough. He'd come from old money and been raised by nannies, while that didn't necessarily mean a child would grow up to be a prick it often did. The man had gone through three butlers in less than a year, an opening John had quickly filled as butler number four; a job he'd hated in fifteen seconds flat. 

It hadn't taken Finch long to spot Charlie's preference for young prostitutes what with his unmatched computer skills, and it just so happened that Finch knew two such women, on of witch happened to be a  _very_ good escort. As soon as Jones-Price had called his preferred escort agency and ordered 'two of your finest whore' Harold had jumped into action moving orders around so he could send Harbor and Sameen in their place. After that, it was up to the girls while  John roamed the house and Harold kept watch from the home security cameras. 

In all honestly Finch hadn't been able to fault their Number's want for the girls, both looked equally stunning as he watched them walk up the path on the door camera. 

Finch might have been a fan of Harbor's dark purple bodycon dress and her fuck-me heels but the freezing night air had gotten Harbor second guessing her choices. 

“You okay?” She asked Shaw as they paused on the path. 

“Yeah.” Grumbled the older woman. “Just, this bloody dress is too tight. How am I supposed to kill anyone in this?” 

She gestured to the short, red dress Harbor had chosen for her friend to bring out the richness of her brown eyes. 

Harbor chuckled softly. “I think Hank would rather you  _didn't_ kill anyone, Nikita.” 

Sameen just grumbled and the pair carried on to the door where Harbor rang the bell and they waited patiently. 

Shaw's brow furrowed. “Wait, why Nikita?”

The raven-haired beauty raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? You're hot and you kill people for a living what escort name was I going to give you other than Nikita?” 

When Sameen only continued with that blank expression Harbor sighed and gave up; she wouldn't be having the Luc Besson movie conversation with her friend. 

They waited a moment for John to come to the door and welcome them in, frankly he looked adorable in his butler uniform but Harbor knew far better than to say that to his face. She'd tell Shaw later when they were alone and could laugh about it. 

“Ladies, if you'd like to follow me I'll take you through to Mister Jones-Price.” Said Reese in a rather bored tone. 

“Of course, Jeeves.” Harbor's teasing really knew no bounds. 

Harold had sat back at the Library with a cup of tea and Bear as he watched the whole thing through the cameras. While the girls had been distracting Charles, Reese had taken the opportunity to rush upstairs into the master bedroom and start work on opening the safe to see what he could find. Finch and Reese had been almost certain that he was a victim but they'd been wrong before. 

“ _He still distracted Finch?_ ” Reese asked as he slipped his gloves on and set to work on the old fashioned wall safe.

Harold flashed his blue eyes over to the camera just outside the living room which he'd had Reese turn ever so slightly to give him a view straight into the room. There he saw Harbor and Sameen sat on either side of Jones-Price. 

“From the grin on his face I'd say he's well and truly distracted, Mister Reese.” 

John chuckled. “ _Don't go getting jealous, Harold. How is that working anyway?”_

Finch's brow furrowed in confusion. Bear chose that moment to leave his bed and search out Harold's hand for tickles which were quickly granted. 

“How is what working, Mister Reese? I don't understand.” 

“ _You understand exactly and you know it. You're girlfriend is n escort, Finch, you seriously just okay with that?”_

Finch heard the telltale sound of a safe clicking open, looked  like Reese was getting slow. 

“... Yes, I'm fine with it.” _No! No, I'm note fucking 'fine' with it. The woman I love spends all day being salivated over like she's meat by Christ knows who, all of which get to __have sex with her._ “Perfectly fine.” 

Harold wasn't fine, of course he wasn't. There was something deep down inside him that longed to put his foot down and say she was his and only his. Be possessive. Have her all to himself. Finch knew he couldn't do that though. He'd known from the very beginning what her job was, literally the  _ very  _ beginning. Harbor wasn't cheating on Finch he knew that, he had no right to ask her to stop just for his own inner possessive streak. 

“ _ Yeah, that's the most blatant lie you've ever told, Harold. You want her to stop then tell her. _ ” Said Reese as he rummaged around in the safe. “ _ You are a billionaire remember. _ ” 

“Mister Reese, I don't think it's a good idea to sit a woman like Harbor down and tell her she is no longer going to work as an escort because her boyfriend is rich and plans to make her a kept woman.” 

“ _ When you say it like that it does sound like a dick move. Maybe- hang on, I found some letters between him and a prostitute _ .” 

“How can you be certain this woman is a prostitute?” Asked Harold, pleased to have a new subject. 

“ _ Well, her name is sinnamon, with an S. Seems prostitute-y to me.”  _ With a 'fair assessment, please continue' styled hum Harold let his friend carry on. “ _ She claims he got her pregnant and if he doesn't pay for the baby then … yep, she'll report him for raping her. _ ” 

“Is there anything to suggest this allegation is true?” 

“ _Doesn't look like it. I wouldn't be sure she's even pregnant, looks like Lord Asshole didn't believe her_ _either_ _._ ” 

“I'll look into it see if I can find any escorts from the agency named Sinnamon.” 

Harold made quick work of tracking down the escorts and their real names looking for anything even remotely helpful but couldn't find a single girl with that name.  That sparked him to go through Jones-Price's phone records but still to no avail. Something caught his attention then, a tiny blur just over the top of his glasses, when he peered up to the cameras that faced the expansive back yard he realized they were in for a fight and opened up comms to all three of his people in that house.

“Mister Reese, Miss Shaw, Harbor, there are five- no _six_ men attempting to break into the house. There is a seventh cutting the power so be prepared for the lights to go out.” 

“ _Pick a number, Harold_.” Grumbled John and he slammed the safe shut and rushed downstairs, weapon drawn. 

“The cameras have their own power supply so I'll be able to give you warning of where these men are.” 

The power shut off then and the house found itself in darkness. Though he still had a visual that blackness did make certain cameras useless to him. 

“ _Shaw, Harbor, keep Jones-Price safe, I'll deal with the hostiles.” _

“ _Will do_.” Came Shaw's quick response as their Number demanded to know what was happening and who they were in the background. 

“ _Hank, any idea who these people are?”_

“No, darling, I'm afraid not.” Finch sighed as he peered back to the camera showing Reese heading down a hallway. “Mister Reese, you have two men coming at you on your right, roughly ten seconds to intercept.” 

Harold could only watch as John continued down the hall and promptly – for a lack of a better term – beat the ever loving shit out of them. Reese didn't even seem to break a sweat, Finch had always known just how heavily trained his friend was but this seemed easier than usual. 

Once the two men were down Reese ripped their masks off Harold heard the taller man breathe out a laugh. 

“ _Alright, I've got good news and bad news.”_

“ _Bad news.”_ Shaw demanded quickly. 

“ _Bad news is these idiots are seriously over-confident and probably trigger happy.”_

“And the good news, Mister Reese?”

“ _That would be that they're gangbangers, not trained, don't know what they're doing and have bitten of way more than they can chew. Won't even need to kill them, just knock the idiots out and leave them for Fusco to deal with._” 

That was exactly what they did. Harbor got Shaw to go help Reese since she was more use while Harbor stayed to watch a rather confused and rude Charles Jones-Price. Hadn't taken more than ten minutes for Sameen and Reese to deal with their would be attackers and save the prick's life – not that he'd been overly grateful. Harold had put in a call to Fusco and then made sure to have bourbon waiting for everyone when they got back to the Library. Another job well done. 

As soon as Harbor entered the abandoned library just after the clock had struck midnight, she slipped straight into his lap and kissed him while John got glasses and drinks out. Didn't take long for Shaw to find herself throwing Bear's tennis ball back and forth for him so he could get rid of some of that energy.

“So,” began Harbor once everyone was settled “what the hell was going on with that gang and the rich dick?” 

“Ah, yes. I did some more research while I was waiting for you all to get back. As it turns out there was one young woman who worked for the escort agency using the name Sunny, she was fired about two months ago as her clients had started getting robbed in the days after she'd met with them and her boss had figured out she'd gotten involved with a gang. She started going by Sinnamon when she got a new job at a strip club just down the street from Jones-Prices office. I suspect that she'd known he was on their list of clients and had hoped to be able to swindle him, somehow managed to get into his life and have sex with him. However, he didn't believe her when she said she was pregnant and started demanding money so instead of hoping for a payout that would never come she decided to get her  _friends_ to simply rob the place. If she'd been in the house then she'd know the layout.” 

Harbor just stared at him open-mouthed. “That's both smart and stupid.” 

“It seems a lot of people are.” 

Harbor found herself drawn into playing fetch with Bear when the animal marched straight passed Shaw and dropped his ball at Harbor's feet instead. Sameen hadn't seemed insulted just shrugged it off and went to get another drink. The three dealt with a little bit of new information on Samaritan that Finch had managed to gather, he didn't want Harbor to know, didn't want her to worry, didn't want her to know how easily things could fall apart. 

Twenty minutes or so later he found his beautiful girl at the end of the hall still playing with Bear, she was beyond smart, he knew she'd given them some privacy. Another reason he adored her, she could have so easily eavesdropped but she hadn't. When she saw him she flashed Harold that bright smile and let him slip an arm around her waist so he could kiss her softly.

“What will you do now?” Harold asked with a slight tease. “Back to your client list?”

Harold totally hadn't kept the list of her clients from back when they'd saved her life. Totally hadn't looked into them and made sure they weren't hiding anything nefarious that could have gotten her killed.

The green-eyed girl remained quiet a time as she stood there with her head rested on his shoulder and fiddled with his tie. Harold had actually started to worry but then she spoke, somehow quiet and determined all at the same time.

“No.” She shook her head. “I'm sick of lying to please men. I thought I was helping them, easing worries and making them feel safe. I act brave but it's a lie. I don't want it to be a lie anymore, Hank, I want to actually be brave and do something to really help. I want to work for you.” 

Finch's eyes went wide. “What?!”

She sighed and clung to him tighter. “You've seen me, I can talk my way into anywhere. I memorizes things on the drop of a hat, I've stolen stuff for you that you couldn't even figure out how to get. I can already fire a weapon and moderately defend myself. I suspect it won't take long for Smiles and Badass to train me up. I want to work for you, Harold Finch, I want to _really_ help people.”

For a moment his mouth open and closed lamely unsure of what to say or how to dissuade her from this. Having her in his life was one thing but putting her directly in the line of fire was quite another; _you've already done that, you did it not an hour ago._

“I can't ask you to do that.” Harold breathed. “You are young, have your whole life ahead of you. You could do anything you want with that life.”

Harbor nodded. “You're right, I could. I want to help _you_. I don't want to act brave anymore, Hank, I want to _be_ brave.”

Neither the suit clad man nor his mysterious lover noticed Shaw and John had quietly gathered at the other end of the hall near Finch's desk, two sets of eyes firmly locked on the their friends.

“The girl makes a good point, Harold.” Both Harbor and Finch snapped their attention to Reese. “It would be good to have her on hand. She was a lot of help with Boucheron and tonight with Jones-Price.”

“Please, Hank?” The look on her face was so sincere.

He wanted to say no, oh how he wanted to say no.

“Shaw and I will train her.”

“I already am.” Added Sameen before she downed what was left of her drink. 

Harold deflated, and let out a long sigh. “Are you sure?”

He didn't want her to be in yet more danger. That was the very last thing Finch wanted. Still, if she worked for him she'd not be sleeping with other men. _That is not a pro,_ he chastised himself. 

Harbor nodded and Harold knew he'd caved, he'd stood up to torture and yet those big green eyes could always make him cave. 

“Okay,” He relented, “but only if Mister Reese and I think you're ready for any given situation and Miss Shaw continues to train you.”

Sameen snorted in a very unladylike fashion. “She's your girlfriend not your kid, Finch.” 

The comment went ignored though thanks to Harbor suddenly throwing her arms around with the biggest grin he'd ever seen form her. 

“Yes! I love you, Hank.”

His arms instinctively went to her slender waist to keep her close. She did love him, didn't she. Finch still couldn't quiet understand why but she did love him and Harold would treasure every moment of it. That voice could carry on screaming he didn't deserve her all it liked because as long as she was wiling to let him he'd love her. Even though he'd left Grace for good reason he had squandered his relationship with her, Harold wouldn't squander his love with Harbor. Connections to people weren't curses or weaknesses, they were a blessing and strengths.

“I love you too.”

THE END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented and left kudos on this fic! I hope you all enjoyed the ending and an especially big shout out to M_E_Lover for being fantastic.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!


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